Compromising Situation
by Greenhorn Soldier
Summary: This wasn't how she imagined her next mission. Babysitting a demigod, she scowled. Not just any demigod, but the God of Mischief himself; mortal and vulnerable, cast out into Earth as punishment for his crimes. No, she definitely wasn't trained for this.
1. Prologue

Summary: This wasn't how she imagined her next mission would be. Protecting a demigod. Not just any demigod though, but the God of Mischief himself; mortal and vulnerable, cast out into Earth as punishment for his crimes. No, she definitely wasn't trained for this.

* * *

A/N I have officially gone Avenger loco at the moment. It was just sooooo good, I couldn't resist the smell of a new fandom emerging. I was a superhero fan before this (though my exposure has strictly been limited to movies). My fave scene was obviously the Loki and Natasha Interrogation scene, or as I dub it "The Mewling Quim scene". So, enough of that. Here's the Prologue:

* * *

Shield HQ was a dreary chunk of metal, or so Natasha thought. Over 3 million tons of metal floating above the ocean, disguised by reflectors, and carrying possibly some of the most dangerous pieces of machinery in the world, the new headquarters definitely wasn't the safest place on Earth. And several days before, it was proven to be not the most stable either. Passing by a familiar hallway, Natasha recalled the fearful chase and the green giant that nearly killed her. Hastily walking past, she pushed back the memories before they could fully take over. Now wasn't the time for that.

It was a week after that day. The day when the Earth was nearly overtaken by extraterrestrials, when a band of lost souls put aside their petty differences for the sake of a common cause: stopping that insane green, horned egomaniac before he destroys the planet. It was the day when Natasha, for the first time in her life, actually felt like _a hero_.

But that moment quickly passed. Now, it was back to business.

Fury's blurry figure was visible through the sliding glass door, and it was no surprise that he seemed to be talking on the phone. After the incident, the Shield Head was bombarded with questions from all spectrums of society. The government, press, foreign countries, you name it; all vying for the truth behind the chaos at New York. Unfortunately, Shield wasn't free to disclose that particular information. The Council had decided that the world wasn't ready to accept the idea that they weren't alone in the universe. Mass panic would result, so instead they provided a very "convincing" back-story: a deadly weapon prototype that accidentally fell to the wrong hands. Gee, that seemed familiar. Loki was then dubbed as "The Insane Man Who Thought He Was a God" and the Avengers still held their title as "Earth's Mightiest Heroes". Of course, secret identities were a strict hush-hush (not in Tony Stark's case though).

However, that didn't settle the questions. In fact it added even more. Why is the government creating weapons of that caliber? Why Manhattan? Why was that man able to generate lightning? Why is Captain America still alive after all these years? Why is Tony Stark included as a "hero"? And what in the world was that buffed green monster?

Thankfully, they didn't notice Natasha's and Clint's presence through the disaster. Externally, they were quite unimpressive compared to their super-powered, genetically modified, teched-up teammates. It was both a relief and an insult- at least in Clint's perspective- but to Natasha, it was just the way she liked it. Uncompromised and hidden, it was essential for her job to remain that way.

-And speaking of her job.

"…_No_, that information is highly classified. I'm serious, Stark, this is no laughing matter. Now, you listen here-" A pause. "Fine, tell them. Just don't include- no, _just_ that. Keep the rest to yourself. You hear me, Stark. Stark?"

His scowled deepened as he clenched his hold on the phone. "Damn that kid. Remind me again why I asked him to talk to the press?"

"He was the only one willing to step into the podium for you, sir."

That didn't elevate the situation and Fury seemed to be even more annoyed. The presence of the former Russian reminded him of another problem in his list. He turned to Natasha, who patiently stood by the doorway, and motioned her to come closer.

"The public is the least of my worries." He massaged the bridge of his nose. This was going to be difficult. "Agent Romanoff, as I recall your and Agent Barton's role in the New York incident remains confidential."

"You're correct, sir."

"How is Barton doing by the way?"

She looked at him curiously. Since when was Fury concerned about his agent's welfare? "He's doing fine." She replied tersely.

Fury gave her a pointed look; clearly he already knew the answer to his own question. He just needed Natasha to confirm it. Natasha cursed internally; Fury was one of the few people able to catch her lies. She mentally apologized to Clint for what she was about to reveal.

Sighing, she relented to his stare. "He's copping, but the nightmares are still frequent. He keeps blaming himself for all the deaths- especially Coulson's. No matter how many times I tell him it's Loki's fault, he doesn't stop."

She didn't mention how horrible he looked. Eyes baggy and bloodshot from the lack of sleep, the sickly pale hue and a permanent grim expression etched into his face. Every time they met, which was often since they only lived a couple buildings from each other, it seemed to be getting worse.

It was peculiar. Hired assassins were supposed to be desensitized by death; it was what their career revolved around, after all. But then again, Clint was too soft-hearted for his own good; that's what she always berated him with. Even though, she still owed him a lot because of his little weakness. Without it, she might not even be here today.

"Professor Selvig is also experiencing the same symptoms. How bad do you think Loki affected him?" Fury asked thoughtfully,

"_Very_ bad, sir."

"I see." Again, with that thoughtful expression, Fury continued to stare at her. "What do _you_ think of Loki?"

He was gauging for a reaction, she knew it. The most Natasha allowed to revealed was a slight narrow of her eyes. What did she think of the God of Mischief? Her opinion of him had not changed the slightest. He was, and still would be, a monster in her eyes.

"I believe he is the lowest form of scum there is." Natasha said stoically, but the slight bitterness in her voice revealed a trace of her scorn.

"Do you hate him?" Fury pressed on,

Hate was such a strong word, and using it meant divulging too much emotion. Besides, she couldn't truly hate someone; it was exhausting and often gave her headaches. The same went for love. The closest she could feel was fondness, particularly for Clint. But for Loki, the man who brainwashed her friend, almost killed her teammates, destroyed half of Manhattan, and the sole person who _nearly _broke through her defenses; the closest emotion she could offer was-

"I pity him. I don't know him enough to properly judge him, but his actions clearly define him someone unstable. I can't hate a man who's not even in his right mind." She said, and meant it. She disliked the man _so_ very much, but the pity she felt for him was stronger; the sight of a beaten "god", muzzled and tied, was slightly pathetic.

Fury silently assessed her answer. Then, as if finally making a decision, he opened a drawer and pulled out a folder from it. Natasha curiously eyed it; on the front, bright red were the words "TOP SECRET" and it seemed to carry a thin set of documents.

"I called you here for a mission. It's not your usual, and it's not something I find easy to disclose." Fury handed her the documents. "You weren't my first choice, but out of the rest, I think you're the best for this one. You and Barton are the only ones I trust to keep this a secret. I would have chosen Barton but as you know, he's currently indisposed. And I don't think being on this mission would help in his recovery. You can keep up with him, and I don't have to worry about you killing him or leaving him to die."

Still reluctant to open the folder, she waited for Fury to finish explaining. The older man's intense gaze clearly implied the seriousness of the situation and the tight frown on his face displayed his clear annoyance; at whom, she did not know.

"Yesterday, we had an unexpected visit from our little Asgardian friend, Thor. He came to deliver me news. Bad news."

"_The trial has ended. Loki's punishment has been chosen." _

"He came to tell me about the trial and what was deemed the appropriate punishment for Loki's crimes."

"_Forgive me, I had no choice on the matter; the mighty Odin had determined the fitting penalty himself."_

"It was supposed to be execution. But, his old man knew that it wouldn't solve anything. If you ask me, his dad felt a little guilty for causing this and granted a bit of mercy on the crazy kid."

"_Father thought it was a better decision. Loki would still be living, though substantially incapacitated, but nevertheless, I'm glad my brother does not have to enter the realm of Niffleheim."_

"So you see, thanks to _that_, I've got an even bigger problem in my hands-"

"_I apologize for the inconvenience but it was the only way. I truly believe there is still some good in him; the brother I loved is trapped inside and this is might be a way to release him. So, Nick Fury, Leader of Shield and Mentor of Heroes, I, Son of Odin, ask you a favor."_

Natasha opened the folder, and nearly dropped it after seeing what was inside: A birth certificate, passports, proof of residence, a social security number, a visa and a photo.

"-what to do with an exiled demigod turned mortal?"

"_Please protect my brother during his exile."_

A photo of a scowling green-eyed man, who was looking every bit as aggravated as she last saw him, "Bozhe moi."

* * *

Changed: Niffleheim- realm of the dishonored dead (I accidentally put Hel, the realm of the ordinary dead, before)

Ah, this story has been haunting my mind since I watched the movie. It severely handicapped me during my AP exams. At last I'm rid of the prologue. I'll update soon, in the meantime don't hesitate to leave a review

Kneel and review, you foolish mortals -(ahem ignore this)


	2. A Bodyguard To Go With Your Muzzle

Chapter 1: A Bodyguard To Go With Your Muzzle

A/N: You guys are so awesome. I seriously didn't expect the amount of reviews I got. Thank you all of you! You are all so..*sob* beautiful.

And someone asked what "Bohze Moi" meant in the last chapter. It's basically the Russian equivalent of "Oh my god".

Here's the first chappie:

* * *

_The glares were innumerable. Accompanied by the dirty looks and scowls, it was a wonder why he was still standing. The entire hall itself seemed to glower down on him. Oh, how he wished to respond to their faces with a witty retort, even a small smirk would suffice. But alas, the muzzle hindered that opportunity._

"_Loki Odinson."_

_It's Laufeyson, you fool Get your facts straight._

"_You stand before the Council of Asgard under the crimes of illegitimate usurpation of the crown, undertaking annihilation of another realm, destruction of the Bifrost, and accomplice in the attempted murder of the Allfather. Do you deny these accusations?"_

_It was a bit difficult to deny anything with this contraption on his mouth._

"_Very well. Under the law of Asgard and of the nine realms, we hereby sentence you to death."_

_Short and sweet, just the way Loki liked it. Well, this is the end then. The dark sorcerer is defeated and the warrior of light reign supreme, such is the case in many Midgardian folk tales. He tried to convince himself that he was expecting this since the moment he was defeated, but that didn't stop the unpleasant heaviness in the pit of his stomach._

_No, he refused to feel sentimental over this. _

_They were fools, all of them. Ignorant of how much power they had over the universe, yet unwilling to save the forsaken souls of other realms. They were given this power for a reason: to rule. Yet, instead they isolated themselves, and meandered in petty conquests and adventures, when they could be ruling worlds instead. Selfish idiots, just think of all the gifts they could bestow on Midgard; how, under their rule, they could teach those stupid mortals how to live in peace. Fools, the lot of them._

_He looked at the crowd and saw the face of his brother, or the man he once thought of as a brother. He was the biggest fool of them all._

_Declaring himself the protector of a realm just because he fell in love with one mortal; Loki knew he was impulsive, but that was just plain ridiculous. Now with his merry band of misfits, he intended to save the realm from aggressors, when he should be saving it from itself. Thor, you oaf. _

_Beside him stood his "father", the man he so admired in his youth. Now, he is but a shadow of his former glory. He despised him most of all. Spouting words of peace, yet unhesitant to manipulate a child for the sake of his cause. It was him that started all of this. The lying thief hid the truth from him all his life. He had no idea how much pain he caused. _

_For years, Loki thought he was actually part of the family, that he was a prince of Asgard. Despite being treated as an outcast; he held his faith that blood still connected him to them, that he was still biologically Odinson no matter what his peculiarities were. To have had that confidence violently ripped from him was brutal. Not only was he not Odinson, he wasn't even Asgardian, but was, instead, a ghastly Frost Giant. And even as a Frost Giant, he was still unwanted, abandoned by his real father because of his abnormalities and left to fall in an abyss of nothingness by his adopted one for the sake of the greater good. Ultimately, he decided he belonged nowhere, so he would create his own world._

_That didn't stop his hatred though. This searing hatred that throbbed in his blood, that begged for revenge for all the hurt and pain those lies have caused him. Loki directed all that hatred in his glare. Mentally, he wished Odin would feel the severe guilt. This is the monster you created, father. Revel in your genius. _

_To his surprise, the King of Asgard stood up and addressed the hall. "I object to the sentence."_

_There was a collected gasp from the crowd. Murmurs and outraged yells were heard as the unexpected declaration echoed. _

_Thor appeared just as surprised as well, and a bit relieved. Odin, his chin held high and looking the very picture of certainty, continued. "I do not believe that executing Loki would surmount any problem. The punishment itself would simply provide an easy escape for the offender; an escape from the consequences of his actions. A quick death would be a gift compared to the crimes he has caused."_

_Again, a wave of murmurs echoed the golden hall. Loki narrowed his eyes suspiciously. What was his father getting at?_

"_Then what do you propose we do, Allfather?" asked one council member,_

_Odin smiled and his eyes sparkled, "A much more fitting punishment would be to make him suffer, slowly and painfully. Physical torture will not work on Loki, but mental torment would prove highly effective. I suggest we take from him what he holds dearest: his magic." _

_Loki's heart clenched and his eyes widened. No!_

_Odin was not finished though, "But that is not enough. Power is not the only motivation for his cruelty. He seeks to subjugate the mortals under his rule, since he deems them inferior. To become what he thought inferior, to be what he scorned; that is a punishment. That is a punishment worth a million Niffleheims."_

_Loki began to violently struggle with his bonds, however the chain tying him to the floor was unbreakable. He knew what his father was implying. And he would rather beg entrance to the gates of Niffleheim than be subjected to that fate. _

_The Council seemed to understand the King's point. The struggling Loki gave was proof enough of the effects of the sentence. They each nodded to the other before finally reaching a closing decision. "The Allfather grants a mighty testimony. We, the Council, agree with his judgment. May the sentence be made."_

_Odin stepped out and stood in front of the panicked form of his adopted son. The smaller god froze as the great king held __Gungnir__ in front of him__. Slowly, painfully, he looked up at the stern features of the Allfather. At that moment, he understood the legendary tales of the Great King of Asgard, for he had never seen his father bathed in so much power as this in all his life. Loki's eyes widened in fear as the tip of the spear lightly touched the middle of his forehead._

"_Loki, God of Mischief and Chaos," he roared, "Seeing as Midgard has taken the worst of your wrath, you owe a sacred debt to the all the humans. And until that debt is repaid, I sentence you to live as a mortal and to never again see the light of Asgard, nor feel the power of your magic."_

_The searing pain afterwards was indescribable, so much so that he fell to his knees. It was like he was being torn to pieces, his skin was on fire, his bones crumbled to dust, and his blood boiled and spilled out every pore of his body, drenching him in red. It was a pain never felt before, far worse than what the green monster had done to him. No, that was pain felt when he was immortal. What he was experiencing now was a whole new level of hurt. It was physical yet spiritual. It was his whole body. It was stripping away what was part of his being. It was fear. It was hate. It was mortal._

_His screams broke through the muzzle and forever haunted the golden halls of Asgard._

He bolted up, shaking and sweating, and clutched his chest as if his heart was going to jump out at any minute. Another night, the same memory; it has been the same for the past day or two. The sensations still reverberated through his body. It almost felt like it had happened all over again.

He glanced around his surroundings. It was a bit dark, and it took a while for his eyes to adjust. He was on a bed, a desk lamp on the table beside it, a dresser at the far corner and across it, a door. He waved his hand for the light to turn on.

Nothing happened.

So, it was true. No more of his beloved magic at his fingertips. He felt so naked without it. It was as though a vital limb was cut off and now he had to learn how to live without it. Not only that, but he was trapped in a world he did not belong in and trapped in a form he hated. He wanted nothing more than to burn in depths of Muspelheim**.** He was a_ god, _but now- what is he?Burying his head in his hands, he felt madness building up within, ready to explode.

"I didn't think I'd be able to sneak up on you, again. But, I guess being mortal does leave you a bit…_handicapped_."

He jumped at the voice. Turning, he saw the familiar lithe figure gracefully emerge from the darker shadows of the room's corner. Ah, yes, he had almost forgotten his appointed bodyguard.

"Why am I not surprised that they chose you." he said casually to her, when inside he was seething with rage. Another evidence of his mortality: to be protected by a human woman.

"They think I can handle you much better than the others. Besides, after all the tortures Fury could put together, I thought you would see me as a friend." Agent Romanoff smirked slyly.

Loki responded with his own smirk, "Of course, but I feel a bit insulted that they would reduce me to the weakest of your lot. Am I not a threat anymore? I see no shackles bearing me down."

Agent Romanoff stepped a little closer, only a foot away from the edge of the bed. "Would you rather be watched over by Banner and his_ little_ friend? I could arrange that," she said forebodingly.

His smirk vanished in an instant, a scowl contorting his features. "No, I guess the_ mewling quim_ will have to suffice."

No emotion showed in the agent's face, save for the slight narrow of her eyes, something that mildly surprised Loki. She was not impenetrable, he knew that. And he would make sure to find a way to expose that weakness to the world.

Natasha steeled her gaze. She would not give this man the satisfaction of evoking any feelings from her, other than that of pity. Even now, she stared at the mortal before her, and compared him to the lethal demigod he was only a week before. The contrast was astounding, but though he was powerless before her, she still could not underestimate him. A snake without his venom may not be fatal, but it's still dangerous.

They glared, each knowing that the rest of their "partnership" would be strained to say the least. It was going to be a battle of wits, and in Natasha's case, a test of her indifference.

Having enough of their stare down, she headed towards the door. "Pack whatever is in the dresser and come out when you're done. We're relocating you away from HQ."

"Relocating?" he repeated warily, "Are you sure that's a wise plan?"

"Yes," she held out the door only a fraction before she walked out. She gave him one last patronizing smirk, "And as for those shackles you wanted—you're looking at her."

* * *

There you go! I'm sorry it's so short. Don't throw lightning at me. I had a bit of a debate with myself on how their first meeting would go.

In the end, I didn't think of Loki as the type that would throw all his rage at Natasha (that seems more like Thor), instead I saw him as someone who hides in a facade of aloofness, but has a simmering pot of emotions that burst at inopportune moments. It's a great foil to his brother's "openness". That's what makes him a very interesting and difficult character to write.

I hoped I stayed true to the character and they didn't seem too OOC.

REVIEW pleeaaasseee :D (you are all no longer foolish mortals :3)


	3. Temporary House Arrest

A/N: Thank you so much guys for the reviews! They were all so encouraging, especially during my writer's block moments. You are all wonderful and beautiful people and if I could, I'd hug all of you. But that would be awkward so let's settle with a telepathic friendly pat on the back.

Sorry it took a while. This chapter has been the hardest one to write so far. Mainly, because I had trouble showing a bit of attraction without looking too OOC. There isn't a full blown Loki/Natasha make out season (it's _far_ too early for that) but the tension is starting to build. Particularly in Loki's case.

For **phylitr's** question about the people who know about Loki's punishment. Well, I don't want to give out much but let's just say that Fury is hiding some big skeletons in his closet, some of which neither WSC nor the Avengers know anything about (and hopefully it stays that way).

Here we go:

* * *

Chapter 2: Temporary House Arrest

In a way, he understood the logic behind Fury's choice. The American hero wouldn't have known much about the outside world, especially after being frozen for nearly half a century, Stark would have most likely "accidentally" left him to die, while Banner and Barton would have killed him themselves. Agent Romanoff on the other hand, was more..._reserved_.

Through his observations, he had concluded that Agent Romanoff appeared _too_ apathetic to be considered an "average" human woman. His mind brought back their previous meeting; the incident when she dared struck that bargain with him. He recalled the shock in her eyes when he confessed that he knew all too well how pristine her ledger really is. But, after the revelation of her scheme, he was doubtful if he saw _real _emotion, or if it was just another part of her ploy. She was an incredible actress…for a human, of course.

But, she was not the only one who could fool others. They did not name him the "God of Lies" for nothing. Already, he was devising a plot that could, if successful, offer him both his freedom and revenge. As for Agent Romanoff, she would have to be the unlucky recipient of his design.

Suspiciously, they left in the middle of the night like a pair of escaped prisoners, which, in Loki's case, was partially true. They had left the floating bunker via jet, piloted by none other than the agent herself. Sensing the urgent mood, the former god had to restrain himself from asking questions. After she landed the jet on an abandoned airstrip, he was then shoved inside the back of an ebony car with heavily tinted windows. They drove for about an hour and a half, which severely tested Loki's patience and curiosity.

"We're here," Agent Romanoff said as the car stopped.

They stepped out and he was surprised to see the familiar sight of skyscrapers high enough to cover the stars. He chuckled incredulously. New York? Of all the places they could relocate him to; they chose the one he recently destroyed. Who's twisted sense of humor thought this was amusing?

"It was Fury's idea," she explained as she stood beside him.

"Well, that makes me question the man's sanity even more." he said.

Romanoff led him inside a building, which appeared to be a regular apartment complex, common with its red bricks and fire exit hanging at the side. They ascended to the second floor through the stairs, and stopped in front of apartment number eight. The Agent then unlocked the door, and stepped aside to let him in.

"Ladies first," she said mockingly. He sneered down at her, but walked inside all the same, carrying with him his suitcase full of clothes.

It wasn't anything grandiose, certainly not resembling anything at Asgard, but was bare, practical, and completely unexceptional. It was so bland that Loki felt like he was back in his cage.

The solid white walls and dark red furniture left little to the imagination. There was a hallway to his right leading to the bedrooms and bathrooms. On his left was a very organized kitchen area that appeared to have never been used. A door leading to the fire exit was across the main entrance of the apartment. Between them was the living room, which was remarkably bare, except for the red sofas, glass side table with a lamp on it, and a shiny rectangular contraption in front (a television, they called it?). The only decoration was a series of black and white landscape photos scattered about the walls.

The agent walked passed him and sauntered towards the kitchen. "Make yourself at home," she said dismissively.

Then, it all clicked into place. "This is your home?"

There was the sound of shuffling before she answered, "It's not home, just a place to stay." she said curtly. "But, yes, I guess you could say it is."

"They actually expect me to live with you?" he said disbelievingly. "While I am flattered, Agent Romanoff, but doesn't that seem a bit forward?"

She returned with a bottle of gold liquid in her hands. She had her eyes narrowed again, which he now understood as a sign of annoyance, and walked briskly towards him. "This is strictly business. I'm just doing my job, besides it's only temporary; just until you learn to pick up after yourself."

She shoved the bottle into his hand, "Here."

"What is it?"

"Shampoo. The bathroom's on the first door on your left. Fresh towels are on the closet across the sink. Don't forget to wash behind your pointy ears." She said sarcastically.

* * *

She heard the running water and momentarily breathed a sigh of relief. The instant Loki entered her apartment; she had to restrain herself from revealing her anxiety. This was her private sanctuary, though it was still not her home. Even Clint was rarely able to enter her apartment. But this stranger, this enemy turned prisoner, had easily strode in without any trouble. Natasha even opened the door for him. Damn, Fury owed her big time for this.

The day before, she had taken out anything that might be used to appraise her. Small trinkets and framed photos, they were all safely hidden away in a suitcase underneath her bed; away from Loki's judging gaze. She made sure the entire apartment was clean from anything that might be used against her.

From the depths of her jacket, she took out the image scrambling device Fury gave her. It was supposed to be used the moment they stepped out of the car. By scrambling nearby cameras and by blocking satellite signals, it left them invisible to any form of image tracking system. So, unless someone was specifically searching from them and noticed the blind spot in Midtown Manhattan, no one knew who entered and left the building. She already had a few similar gadgets she used during her earlier "escapades" as a freelance assassin, but none of them were as powerful as this— enough to turn, not just one person, but an entire apartment virtually undetectable. Natasha planted the device on top of the door to the fire escape.

Then, she heard the bathroom door slam open.

"What the in the name of Odin did you cast on me, witch?"

The seething ex-demigod stepped out of the bathroom dripping wet, clad in only a towel and an entirely new hair color. Blonde suited him well, she thought. He marched up to her, his nose flaring and his teeth grit in an angry growl. "What have you done?" he repeated.

"Relax, it's just hair dye. I added some in your shampoo." she said nonchalantly. His head of raven locks made him stand out too much. They couldn't risk the chance of someone recognizing him, especially here of all places. "I can't have you walking around New York looking like last week's front page."

"You didn't care to inform me of this?" he said, still raging.

"No, because I didn't think you'd agree." She crossed her arms defiantly. Apparently, she was right.

"Of course not, what fool would believe that a mere alteration such as this would disguise me effectively." If he only had his powers, he might have been able to create a better illusion.

"You'd be surprised how much a change of hair color and a new cut could fool people." She was speaking from experience here. "Besides, it's not noticeable now because it's only the color. Once I've cut-"

"And what made you think I would even let you near me with any sort of sharp object? I'm not a fool, Agent Romanoff. I know perfectly well what your skill set is." He glared down at her,

"Then, you should know that my mission involves you alive. Killing you, no matter how _tempting _it is, would be counter-productive, now wouldn't it." She boldly stepped closer to him, rising to her full height, which was not much compared to his towering frame.

It was another stare down— similar to their previous one, yet different at the same time. Though forced to look up, Natasha tried her best to look as tall as can be. Her blue eyes hardened like ice and she appeared remarkably intimidating for her stature. You're no longer a god, her eyes said. You, Loki, no longer have authority over me and my planet. You have no army. You are a fallen prince. And I will not back down to a sniveling coward with "daddy issues."

So, either accept it or take a hike.

A look of understanding passed his eyes. Unable to contain a low growl that escaped his throat, his hands clenched in fists. Expecting him to attack, her muscles tensed and she envisioned several ways she could pin him down without causing too much of a mess. But the strike never came. In an instant, his shoulders slacked, his posture changed and his lips curved into a smirk. "_Have it your way,"_ he said through gritted teeth.

He took a step back and opened his arms in a mocking surrender. Subsequently, noticing the inappropriate lack of clothing, she handed him his suitcase and she turned away and went to locate a pair of scissors. "Get dressed and come out when you're ready," she ordered.

Natasha, still stunned by his sudden change in demeanor, questioned whether the man was as sane as she thought.

* * *

That wench. Loki wanted nothing more than to throw her across the room. If he still had his powers he would have burned her where she stood. He would feed her to Jörmungandr if given the opportunity. The look she gave him made him shake with anger. How dare she speak to him like that? Order him like he was her inferior? Patronize him as though he were an infant?

That waste of flesh. That impertinent scut. That caluminous varlot. How dare she!

He took a deep breath to calm his temper. Contain yourself before you do something you'll regret, he scolded. His near outburst in front of her was reckless. In order for his thought out plot to continue, he _needed _to maintain an agreeable facade, or risk her wrath. He needed her to be off her guard, and the only way to do that was to appear amiable.

He stared at his reflection in the sink's mirror. Gone were his raven locks, and instead a mane of gold had taken its place. He had missed his eyebrows though. Grabbing the shampoo, he gingerly added some on it, then rinsed and continued to gaze at his disturbing transformation. The gold had softened his formerly severe green eyes, and also lessened the harsh angles of his face, making his features appear more, dare he say it, _pleasant_.

It is ironic, how Loki had never looked more Asgardian than at that moment.

He truly looked like the brother of Thor.

Disgusted by this strange man staring back at him, he turned away and focused his attention on getting dressed. He opened the suitcase and found several pairs of black slacks, white button-up shirts and black blazers. Standard Shield agent uniform, he guessed. Not that he was finicky; he just didn't want to look like one of _them_. The idea of wearing the same clothes as the people who tried to kill him was anything but appealing. But, seeing as Agent Romanoff probably won't appreciate him approaching her half-naked, these will have to do for now.

He walked out clad in a pair of slacks and fastening the last of the buttons on the shirts. He discarded the blazer because the summer's weather would have made it impractical.

He saw her standing in the kitchen, beside a stool and holding a pair of scissors. Hesitantly, he strode towards her, cautiously eyeing the sharp object in her hands. She could easily cut his mortal throat with that and finally be rid of him once and for all. She claimed she wouldn't, but a little dose of caution was always healthy.

"Take a seat and hold still." She ordered once again,

"Why? So you can _interrogate_ me, Agent Romanoff?" he retorted smartly and received only an annoyed glare.

He took his seat and shifted uneasily under her gaze. They were now eye to eye, and only then did he notice how small this deadly woman was. She moved to stand behind him; a position that further supported his image of her slitting his throat. He flinched slightly when he felt her fingers touch his hair. Then, after measuring the length of several locks, he heard the snips of scissors and felt his head gradually lighten.

"Calm down." Romanoff remarked, "You're gripping the seat too tightly."

"Yes, I'm _should_ be perfectly calm as an assassin holds a pair of blades near my face."

"I'm _not _going to kill you."

"That's very _reassuring _coming from someone like you."

Closing his eyes, Loki tried to calm himself, but was extremely difficult as Romanoff continued her task. Never had anyone, with the exception of his mother, dared to touch him like this. It brought back memories, painful memories of his mother's soothing comfort and his young naïveté.

During his childhood, when he was often teased because of his peculiar tendencies, his mother would offer her lap for him to lay on, and with the voice of a goddess, she would tell the heroic tales of _fantasy_ that he dearly treasured. Ironically, Romanoff's gentle and fleeting fingers ran through his hair, always accompanied by the sound of scissors. A false sense of comfort, quickly followed by the sharp cut of _reality_.

Ugh, stop that Loki. You're being awfully sentimental today.

Moving to his front, she continued to cut off bits and pieces of his hair. And having nothing else to stare at, he settled his gaze on the agent's face. She was attractive, in a Midgardian sort of way; that much he will admit.

Her large blue eyes were expressive, but were often deceitful in what they reveal. Even without his magic, he could _feel_ the horrors those orbs have witness through the years. But at this moment, they were as hard as glaciers, blank and empty, concentrated only at her task. Her lips, capable of creating some of the most convincing lies he had ever heard, were plump, full and rosy; a delicacy he knew men would die to taste. _Mortal _men, though. She was built for sensuality and that's exactly what made her incredibly deadly. Truly like a Black Widow.

However, Loki was far too intelligent to be fooled by her charms. Or at least that's what he was telling himself.

What surprised him the most was that Romanoff didn't seem bothered by their close proximity. Of course, from what Barton had told him, she was used to much more "intimate" missions. But nonetheless, to be cutting the hair of a man who, a week earlier, she vowed to kill is still a bit surreal- even for him. She remained placid though, something he was a bit disappointed of. To be a master spy means to vanquish one's own attachments and to live solely for the sake of the mission. He wondered how many men had died feeling the same soothing caress of her hands, and how much blood those same hands had to wash off in order to restore their pristine mask.

The snipping of the scissors stopped and he saw the glint of the blade being placed in her pocket.

Unexpectedly, both her hands ran through his hair, brushing the stray strands off. It was uncomfortable to say the least; faintly reminiscent of the days when Thor would ruffle his hair when they were children.

His thoughts momentarily halted when her hands drifted down to his forehead; the skin to skin contact literally shocked him. Her hands were cold, something he did not expect at all, yet they were soft with rough calluses on her finger's tips; fingers which trailed down to his cheek bones, and pushed locks of his hair behind his ears to frame his face. The entire time, he was stiff as stone; his face as unreadable as hers. He was impassive. His heartbeat though said differently.

"There, you're done." She declared and stepped back to admire her work for a few seconds.

She was about to return the scissors to the kitchen when one hand wrapped itself around her wrist. On instinct, she was about to throw him to the ground but stopped when she heard the sound of the stool scraping the floor. Loki stood before her. He glowered down on her, his eyes ablaze and his mouth twisted in a disgusted sneer. He pulled her back to him and brought his face closer to hers.

"Agent Romanoff, in order for this partnership to work, let me inform you of one simple rule that I have for you." His eyes bored into hers, "_Don't ever touch me with your filthy hands, again," _he hissed.

He pushed her wrist away and stormed into the bathroom. Natasha stared blankly at his retreating form, slightly surprised but still unshaken by his actions. Then, she realized something.

His eyes…for a moment she thought she saw- no, it can't be- but _maybe_…

Her eyes narrowed.

* * *

Fool! You lost your composure! What? Are you turning into Thor now? Mindlessly raging and exposing his feelings for the world to see.

Loki paced inside the bathroom. He shouldn't have reacted like that. But, he couldn't help it. It as though instinct told him to deny everything; to turn defensive before she fully understood his thoughts. Sadly, he must have reinforced her defenses against him, when he intended to do the opposite. She should be the one venting her anger, and showing weakness. Not _him. _

It was this mortal form, he swore. It was turning him weak, bombarding him with emotions difficult to control, and confusing him all the more. Sentimentality, the mortal virus that has infected his mind; it would explain the sudden bout of childhood memories and the unexplainable pounding of his heart. This must be Odin's torment. To not only _be_ mortal, but _feel _it as well. Well, Loki will not be that easy to break. And he will _never _break.

His mind then trailed to the Shield Agent.

There could be another reason for this dilemma. It could be that woman. Yes, she must be doing this on purpose; manipulating him like she has done to all the men in her missions. Oh, he knew now. The touching and closeness; he was on to her plot. He knew. She wants to play _that _game. Well, Miss Romanoff, he just so happens to be an expert at it.

* * *

_Thanks to the people who noticed the grammar, spelling and tense errors. I am ashamed to say that I didn't proof-read when I should have. Being a green-horn fanfic writer, I still have a lot more lessons to learn. (Green-horn, get it? No? maybe?...I'm trying too hard to be funny.)_

Well, Loki's plan backfired on him. Poor chap, I always thought he was in dire need of a hug. Maybe, Natasha could offer him one *hinthintwinkwink*. Anyways, finals are coming up the following week, and I'll be in knee deep of trouble, so I apologize if the update is going to take a while. I also apologize for the disappointingly short chapters (forgive my amateur-ish habit).

Hints for the next chap if anyone is interested: Not one, but two familiar faces pop up and Loki takes his first step in Manhattan (without the intent of world domination) and the plotting Natasha tags along as his chaperone. Will his disguise work? And what the heck does his hair even look like? Also, the antagonist reveals himself and offers Loki something he can't refuse. (three guess on what it is)

Thank you again everyone! and as always: Review, Review, Review. May the reviews be ever in your favor (oops, wrong fandom).


	4. Truce And Lies Part One

I have returrrrnnnnneeedddd...

Finally after a weeks worth of exams, I'm finished. You know that feeling after final exams where you feel like you can conquer the world with your Chitauri army, but then, give or take a couple hours or so, a team of Avengers suddenly appear and kill every single functioning brain cell you have left? Yeah...that happened to me in this chapter.

Thank you everyone who reviewed! Sorry, the update took so long. I had difficult time writing the other half of the chapter, because my brain decided to take a vacation after finals week. But thanks to my awesome new beta, **E. Edwin (**who you should all worship by the way for fixing the many issues of my story)**,** I will now chop this extremely long chapter in half. Hiyaah!

So this is part one:

* * *

Chapter 3: Truce and Lies (Part One)

_The fire was beautiful. Powerful, dangerous, and completely uncontrollable; it was her favorite element, and her favorite way to kill._

_The crescendo of screams grew as the blaze enveloped the building in a magnificent glow. The white plastered walls faded into black as the wave of flames continued their course. The sirens in the background only added an extra layer to the masterpiece. This was an orchestra worthy of great composers like Tchaikovsky and__Rimsky-Korsakov. This was art, she smiled proudly. And she was the lustrous maestro admiring her work._

_Finally, the screaming stopped, but__ the sirens continued, followed closely by the melodic cries of the horrified civilians. They continued for a while, until at last they faded into the night._

_The perpetrator walked away from__ the scene of the crime completely unscathed; heels clicking the sidewalk in a drumbeat of triumph__, and her hair, scarlet red like the flames, danced carelessly in the winter breeze. With her head held high, she took out her phone and dialed her client's number. "Mission accomplished." Natalia announced, "Target terminated- along with the rest of the hospital."_

She awoke to the sound of an alarm. Instantly, she grabbed the gun underneath her pillow, bolted off her bed and stood ready to fight. It took a while for the sleepy haze to fade, until she finally noticed that the alarm was nothing more than her phone ringing. Not her Shield phone, her personal one. Frustrated, she hid the gun, grabbed the aggravating object on the side table,

"Natalia- I mean- Natalie Rushman speaking."

"Good morning, _darling_. Missed me?"

-and instantly wished she hadn't.

She groaned internally, frustrated. "Stark, it's too early for this. And I'm not in the mood." With only 3 hours of sleep, and that horrible dream, this definitely wasn't the morning for Tony's ego.

"It's never too early for flirting. I don't blame you though, if I were in your position I'd probably sound just as anal."

"What are you talking about?" She massaged the bridge of her nose. Coffee is a prerequisite for dealing with Stark's cheek.

"Why none other than your new roomie, the infamous Reindeer Games, God of Mischief, Lord of Lies, you know, 'kneel before me, you simpletons'. Ring any bells?"

Suddenly awake, Natasha gripped the phone tighter. "You know?"

"Of course, I know." He said a matter-of-factly, as though she were questioning his intelligence.

This mission was supposed to be confidential. No one, except Fury and her, even knows that Loki is on the planet. However, Tony has managed to surprise her before— particularly his uncharacteristic sacrifice during the invasion. Perhaps she had misjudged him. Then again, knowing the kind of man he is, she wouldn't be surprised if he had the entire city wire-tapped. But, since she had the image scrambling device planted, the most plausible guess would be that-

"You provided Fury the device."

There was a chuckle on the other side. "Ten points to Slytherin. What can I do? Fury begged for one and, being the philanthropist that I am, I couldn't refuse. Of course, there was the matter of having the guy that nearly killed me within the city limits, but once again, that's just another example of my generosity."

Tony's sarcasm this morning was especially acidic. "Strange, I always thought of you as the type of guy that held grudges." She smirked.

"As long as you keep Rudolph in a collar and short leash, then I don't see why the guy can't live a miserable life with the rest of us plebeians. Personally, I'd prefer throwing him off my tower, but I'm guessing his big bro might not appreciate revenge as much as I do. So, rooming with his arch-nemesis will have to do."

"How come you're not the one watching him?"

"Well, first off, I'm a very busy man, especially now that I've got Fury's press hounds breathing down my neck. Second, I'd rather eat Hulk's shorts than have that psycho in my tower, _again_. But, I didn't call you to give a list of why I'm not the best babysitter in the world. I called to warn you."

Tony's voice lowered into what Natasha had dubbed his "serious mode." Stark was rarely serious, and even when he was, hardly anyone could tell. The mood changed; this was no longer a simple morning call.

"Warn me?" She scoffed, "Stark, I can take care of myself."

"I know, Master Assassin. But I'm just saying, even without his magic, this guy can still do some serious damage to your mind. He _is _a Trickster."

"I'm aware of that. But so far, aside from some minor issues with physical contact and his hair, he's been harmless." Natasha recalled yesterday's haircut season. He has some problems, but nothing too extreme. Yet there was something in his eyes that bothered her. But then again, it could have just been a trick of the light.

"Wait, what happened to his hair- No, never mind. My point is you're living with a Type-A nutcase with a serious superiority complex: not a good mix. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure you and your 'talents' can keep him back for a while, but you aren't trained to handle a god. None of us are. We're dealing with the Hannibal Lector of Norse Myth here. He likes to play with his food and darling, you're one _fine _piece of work. He's got some serious ammunition. I mean, you've got a kill list as long as my bank account. You just hope he never finds out about-"

Natasha's gut clenched at the mention of her past. Flashes of the night's dream continued to swirl in her memory; the sight of the flames, the screams and cries, the pleasure of all the chaos. Tony couldn't have known how long her kill list was unless he-

"Did you read my file, Stark?" Her heart began beating rapidly.

Realizing the venom in her voice, Tony's voice began to crack a bit. He knew that he overstepped. "Natasha, I-"

"Did you read my file?" she growled.

Silence.

"Yes."

She hung up.

Breathe, Natasha, breath. She closed her eyes and focused on calming her heartbeat.

The rumors kept her past relatively shaded and muddled. Some said she was born to be a spy, others say she was adopted. Some question whether she was indeed a widow while others attribute her name to a secret operation. Underneath all the lies, there hid a trace of truth, but only she knew the combination that unlocked the secrets. A combination that she kept in her file for Fury's eyes only. The mere fact that Tony felt he was privileged with knowledge she had killed to hide, was a betrayal she would not easily forgive.

She shouldn't have hung up, but Stark had no right to invade her privacy like that. She trusted him, but not to that extent. Even telling Clint the truth took time. It wasn't even the whole truth. Many knew her reputation, yet hardly anyone knew her history. Those who knew either didn't live long, or knew better than to make an enemy out of her.

Before her were her crimes and her past. A rush of emotions from a distant life, so vivid that it felt like yesterday, haunting her like no other; victory, shame, loneliness, invincibility, pride. Natalia Romanova stood, regal and proud, bathed in blood and clothed in screams, a satisfied smirk gracing her features as she completed yet another successful mission. They looked so much alike, and sometimes, during her dark days, Natasha swore they were one and the same. But they weren't- at least not anymore. _No, not anymore_. Natalia was gone and would never come back. _Never. _Natasha opened her eyes, clear and blank.

She didn't realize that she had crawled into a ball on her bedroom floor, nor did she notice the splitting crack on her phone's screen.

"I need a drink."

She silently walked towards the kitchen, creeping by the guest room occupied by Loki. Opening one of the cabinets, she took out her usual remedy for crappy days: a bottle of vodka. Dismissing a glass, she opened it and took one quick swig, enjoying immensely the familiar burn in her throat that followed. This was her little coping method; one that no one except Clint had ever witnessed. Often times, when it was a hard day at work or if something triggers a particularly painful memory, she would take her medicine. It may not be healthy, but it kept her sane enough.

She drank half the bottle. Already, the numbness was seeping in, a sure sign that her barriers are up once again.

There was a knock on the door. She checked the time on the wall clock beside the TV. 7:25 am, a bit too early for anyone to visit, besides it's not like she was expecting anyone today. Suspicious, she disposed the empty bottle and took one of the kitchen knives. She approached the door with caution, expecting someone to kick it down at any moment. She looked through the peephole and was slightly surprised by what she saw. Outside her door awkwardly stood the familiar marksman, Clint Barton, wearing his civilian clothes.

She unlocked the door and hid the knife behind her back. "Clint? What are you doing here?"

Noticing her disheveled morning appearance and the rank smell of alcohol in her breath, Clint already knew that this wasn't one of Natasha's better days. "Morning to you, too, Tasha. Are you alright?" It was hard to hide the concern in his voice.

"I'm fine." Natasha gave him a look that clearly said not to question her statement. This wasn't something she wanted to share with Clint, especially when he was suffering from his own nightmares already.

He understood and didn't indulge on the issue. Being her colleague over the years has taught Clint a thing or two about Natasha Romanoff. One of them was that if you respect her space, she will respect yours.

He was avoiding the topic of his experiences under Loki's control like a plague, but he was aware that Natasha knew about his guilt. The nightmares were taking a toll on his appearance, and it was difficult to ignore his haggard complexion. He appreciated that she kept her observations to herself. They have a mutual 'don't ask, don't tell' agreement. "Alright. May I come in?"

The redhead's thoughts trailed towards Loki who might come out of his room at any moment. Clint probably wouldn't react well to a reunion. "Actually, this isn't a great time."

He should have expected that. Natasha rarely let him into her apartment, but you couldn't blame him for trying. "Oh, that's cool. I just came by to tell you I'm leaving"

Natasha's eyebrows rose in surprise, "Leaving? To where?"

"Fury got Selvig and his team a new research facility somewhere. They're moving on from the whole Tesseract mishap. Good thing too. I've just had about enough with extraterrestrial aliens taking over the world."

She smirked at his comment, "You and me both. So, I'll be seeing you around then."

"Yeah," he said and pensively looked away. "It's nice to finally get out of New York, after- you know."

As the light hit his face, only then did Natasha notice the dark bags underneath his eyes, the sunken shape of his cheeks and the forced grin he was wearing. So, Fury did have a reason for asking about Clint. As much as the Director appeared apathetic to his agent's plight, she knew Fury wouldn't just leave his agents in a state of depression. She nodded understandingly, "Yeah, I think it'll be good for you."

He smiled in return, "I think so, too." he said. "I'm kind of surprised they haven't called you out yet. I thought for sure that there's some dangerous place out there that needs infiltrating."

"I guess they don't need me for now. Fury hasn't contacted me in a while." The lie came out as easily as if it were the truth. The alcohol in her system didn't hinder her skills at all. Years of training made sure of that.

"Lucky you," he said sarcastically, knowing full well how Natasha hated being inactive. "Oh, before I forget." He fumbled for something in his pocket, and pulled out a small remote just about the size of his palm. "Tony stopped by this morning and asked me to give this to you. He said something about calling him if there's ever any trouble." He shrugged his shoulders. Actually in Tony Stark's world, "stopping by" meant crashing into your bedroom, and "asking" meant throwing the device on your lap and rocketing off before you had a chance to refuse.

She took the device and scowled, "Yeah, I get what Stark's saying." She understood very well how the millionaire can't seem to mind his own business.

"That makes one of us. Well, I gotta go Tasha. I'll update you on what's happening once I get there. We wouldn't want anything like last time to happen." He waved fleetingly at her as he walked towards the stairs.

Natasha closed the door and lowered her gaze guiltily. "No. No, we wouldn't."

She jumped slightly at the sound of clapping. Loki stood by the hallway, a smug smirk on his face as he slowly applauded her performance. "I see that even your friends aren't immune to your lies."

She resisted the urge to bite her lip and her barriers once again masked her emotions. "It's none of your business."

"Oh, but I do enjoy prying. It provides such amusing reactions." The smug look on his face told her just how much he enjoyed goading her. "But then again, it's difficult to break old habits. Isn't it, Agent Romanoff?"

She suspected Loki had been awake for longer than she expected. He probably witnessed her little drinking binge while she wasn't looking. She wouldn't be surprised if Clint had told him about her little vodka ritual in his mind-controlled state. Well, she's not going to wait to find out what else the former god knows about her past. She has been exposed enough for this morning.

"Since you're awake, we need to talk about your identity." She suddenly said, hoping to change the subject.

Knowing exactly what she was doing, Loki chose to oblige. The smug smirk still on his lips as he sat on the living room couch. "Pray tell. I'm all ears."

Natasha, still irritated, walked to her satchel on top of the kitchen counter and pulled out the folder Fury had given her. She then sat on one of the armchairs beside the couch and displayed the contents in front of Loki.

"This has everything you need to maintain your mortal existence. Identification, proof of address, everything an average citizen has." She took out a rectangular plastic card with Loki's digitally edited features: blond hair and faint stubble to add some aging effect. "Your official name is Tom Serrure. Born in England but migrated to the States a year ago. Here's your visa and green card, you're going to need that as proof that you came here legally. The only thing we really need is a backstory to go with it."

Loki grabbed the I.D. and questioned where they were able to retrieve a picture of him. It was slightly disturbing how convincing he looked as a mortal. "I think I have an idea for the backstory."

"Okay," Natasha leaned back on the armchair. "Let me hear it."

He eyed her with an expression Natasha could only describe as calculating. "I was born in England but was adopted as a child. That would explain my peculiar last name. I migrated to America to get away from my parents and annoying brother."

"Sounds believable," she said. And not far from the truth, she silently added. "That's all-"

"Wait." He interrupted. "I'm not finished."

She narrowed her eyes, already sensing that he was going to say something she didn't like.

"There is the matter of our…living conditions. I doubt that a woman would share the same apartment with a stranger." He smiled smugly as he leaned in closer. "So, I suggest that, for purposes that pertain to your mission, we act as a pair, as a couple."

"No," she said the moment he stopped speaking. "No, don't involve me in this. I refuse. Besides weren't you the one that said you didn't want my 'filthy hands' on you."

"But, you see, Agent Romanoff, this act benefits us both. You'll not need to explain my presence to others, and your constant watch over me would not seem so abnormal. It is not as though we would truly _be _a couple. It's merely for appearance sake. Besides, is not that your specialty?" he gave her a knowing look as he relished the sight of her infuriated expression.

The alarm bells were ringing in her head, telling her that this was a trap. He had something hidden in his sleeve, and that slight jab about her specialty didn't go unnoticed. No doubt she saw the logic behind his plan. It would definitely help explain her involvement and his company. It would also reinforce his civilian identity if he had some connections.

Natasha, why are you so hesitant to act a role? Haven't you done it often enough? She had, and she shouldn't be acting like this. There was something, an instinct, telling her this wasn't a good idea. Perhaps, it's because it felt like she was making a deal with the God of Mischief, a possible equivalent of the devil. Should she hesitate simply because of personal feelings when this deal is clearly useful for the mission? And though the idea of pretending to feel anything other than resentment for the former god was painful, she understood its necessity. Damn it all, she shouldn't even be considering his proposal. It was absurd and risky, even for her.

Suddenly, Fury's words from long ago chose the right time to remind her of an important lesson: The mission is and should always be your first priority. There should be no room for doubt. And if there is, always have a Plan B.

A Plan B, she thought. She stared into Loki's green eyes. Maybe, it really is beneficial for _both _of them.

"Fine, then."

Loki was momentarily taken aback. "So-Wait, what?"

"I said fine." She said "We'll play pretend, but there're still ground rules that stand."

Recovering from his shock, Loki fumbled for a response. "Alright then, what are your demands?"

"First, the act is only in public. Once we're in here, drop it. Second, physical contact is only until absolutely necessary. Understand?"

He nodded, but not exactly planning on following.

"Third," her eyes narrowed and her voice lowered to something akin to a growl. "You keep your mind games to yourself."

"Whatever do you mean?" He asked innocently,

Natasha stood up from her seat and glowered down on him. "No more prying."

"Why, Agent Romanoff, the thought didn't even cross my mind." He smirked mischievously.

Walking to the kitchen, she opened the fridge to find some breakfast. Vodka isn't a very healthy substitute. The fridge was nearly empty. Week after week of missions tend to sidetrack someone from tedious tasks such as grocery shopping. Disappointed, she closed the fridge door and mentally planned a list of things to buy. She would have to double her supplies now that she had an extra mouth to feed. What do gods even eat?

No matter, since he's a mortal now, she doubted Loki had any special needs. This reminded her, his limited supply of clothing needed to be fixed. The Sheild Agent uniform isn't exactly built for comfort. She turned to the former god lounging on the sofa. She could just leave him alone in the apartment. What harm could he do? But, the sudden image of him _prying _into her room flashed in her mind. No, she needed to drag him along with her.

Besides, this would be a great time to test out how well his disguise worked.

"Loki, take a shower and get dressed. We're heading out." She ordered.

* * *

Part two will be coming up soon. Right after I finish fixing some stuff.

Don't forget to review, review, review. I always love reading your reactions :)


	5. Truce And Lies Part Two

Thanks everyone for the reviews! I really love you guys. Really, I do. I'm sorry I write such short chapters. Give it time, hopefully I'll improve. Thanks also for the people who said I got Stark's character right. His snarky voice is difficult to imitate, unless you're fluent in sarcasm.

And congratulations to the people who managed to catch that "_Serrure" _is indeed a nod to the comics. It's the name Loki has when he's reincarnated as a child. And for that you guys deserve a cookie, a special cookie with the super soldier serum. Because that's how awesome you all are. :D

Many thanks to my beta **E. Edwin **for providing a critical eye to my writing. I am eternally grateful.

Here's part 2 as promised :)

* * *

Chapter 4: Truce and Lies (Part 2)

She stepped out of her bedroom in her civilian attire: skinny jeans, boots, and a plain top with a jacket. A completely casual outfit, and thankfully more comfortable than her leather cat suit. Loki was sitting idly in the living room, wearing a new uniform, but obviously no one could tell the difference since it was identical to his previous one. "Here, wear this for now." She tossed him a battered leather jacket.

He eyed it curiously, surprised that she owned men's clothing. "Is this yours?" he asked.

She smirked slightly at his question. Actually it was Clint's, but he didn't need to know that. Besides, it has a built in tracker just in case he tries anything funny. She grabbed her satchel and car keys on the kitchen counter. On second thought, she returned the keys. Perhaps the former god would enjoy a nice walk instead.

Something on the kitchen counter caught her eye. Tony's device, of course, she nearly forgot. She walked over and eyed the tech for a moment. Then, she promptly threw it in the garbage bin.

"Come on. We're walking." She stood by the door and opened it.

"How do I look?" he asked sarcastically as he put on the jacket. Once again, Natasha realized the stark contrast between his old form and his disguise. Short blond hair instead of his long raven locks, modern clothes instead of his tacky old armor, and a sly smirk instead of his sinister grin; no one could tell he was a megalomaniac bent on world domination. The way he held himself hadn't changed though. He stood straight and shoulder blades back, a clear sign of regality. In another world, she might have thought he was handsome…for a psychopath. It might take a while to get used to his new look.

"Like a complete mortal," she said. "Now, let's go."

* * *

Loki, unlike his brother, was more interested in his studies than training. He found that studying how the enemy thinks was much more useful than simply clobbering them with a hammer. Of course, both sword and mind are needed to win a fight. But in the long run, the sword rusts while the mind grows sharper. So he dwelled in the Asgard's library just as Thor lived on the training grounds. He studied sorcery: a way, he thought, to counter his lack of physical skill. He studied history, lore, fables, and the creatures and beasts of all the realms. Most of the knowledge he gained was especially helpful whenever Thor would drag him along to one of their 'adventures.'

During Earth's infancy, Thor and he often traveled the lands, meeting the early humans, the Scandinavians, they were now called, and inspired some of their myths. Loki had a great distain for the creatures. The Midgardians were weak, chaotic and unruly, and had no special talent other than destroying themselves. Most were one-dimensional barbarians convinced of their own self-righteousness. He disliked the irrationality of their war-mongering ways and their stubbornness; they reminded him too much of Thor. This would probably explain the Thunder god's fascination with them.

Of course, the bout with the Avengers did change his original assumptions. He was now convinced that they were also self-sacrificing chauvinists.

He still studied some of their cultures, believing that one day they might come in handy.

That day was today.

Loki wasn't fumbling around the street, making a scene like Thor did. He knew better than that. He knew that the humans did not like anyone different from them, and to make a scene was an obvious sign of an outsider. He followed the crowd, or more specifically Agent Romanoff.

Speaking of _Tasha Dear,_ he had something special planned for her today.

They strode the sidewalks side by side. Loki did not know exactly where they were, but he decided that they were not far from Times Square. There was slightdamage on the skyscrapers, possibly from the Leviathans, but not the same casualties that he witnessed. A slight scratch or a broken window, but not totally devastated.

The skyscrapers did remind him a bit of the towers of Asgard. Tall and intimidating, they left the viewer awed at the marvelous feat of ingenuity. But much like their makers, the skyscrapers of New York were fragile and lack-luster in appearance. How easy it was to decimate one tower and see the others follow the same path, break a pillar and watch the others collapse. At the same time, Loki mildly admired the way the structures seem to rise again from the rubble.

"May I ask where we are?" he asked her.

"East Midtown Manhattan, near First Avenue." She responded not even sparing him a glance.

First Avenue, he thought and mentally noted. He should remember the address in case he needed directions. Then again, he glanced at his companion, it's not like she'll easily let him lose on the city.

It was early morning, and as expected, the entire city seemed to be bustling with people. Romanoff weaved and dodged them like they were flying bullets. He, on the other hand, restrained himself from cringing at the sheer proximity of the mortals and struggled to keep pace with his escort. Humans and their overpopulation, he scoffed. At least, now he knew that the disguise worked. So far, no mortal had run away in terror at the sight of him.

The day was unusually bright, and was accompanied by a slightly cool wind. Loki could tell that spring was slowly transitioning to summer, his most hated season. The humans around him walked briskly, with purpose, and Loki was right to compare them to ants. They each had a role to play, and assured their own self-importance according to their part in the world. Also like ants, they needed the acceptance of their peers and the guiding voice of a leader. A week ago, Loki had hoped to be that leader. Things don't always go as planned.

Now here he is walking amongst them, feigning a role in their world, pretending to be someone he is not. Like he has done all his life.

His thoughts halted, after he nearly collided with a group of giggling teenagers. He paused to take a breath. Romanoff patiently waited for him a few feet away. "Is it always this crowded in the mornings?" he asked.

"You're in New York. It's this crowded all day." she replied, clearly amused.

"Agent Romanoff, where-"

"_Don't _call me that in public," she said. Her eyebrows knitted into a scowl.

"My apologies, what should I call you then?" He had a few choice words he preferred to call her— none of them so polite. He stopped himself from forming a cheeky retort. The plan, he reminded himself, think of the plan.

"Natalie. Natalie Rushman."

"Natalie." The name sounded strange coming from his mouth, but it was certainly better than calling her 'Agent Romanoff.'

They stopped at a white building, with large glass windows displaying clothes worn by humanoid mannequins. Judging by the sign at the top, the building was owned by a woman named Macy. It looked quite small on the outside but extremely luxurious once they stepped in. Clothes decorated the store top to bottom, and Loki was slightly intrigued by the portraits of men and women surrounding the shop.

He followed Romanoff into the men's section of the store, but not without passing a section that featured women's undergarments. Loki was intrigued by the wide variety of skimpy clothing, and wondered whether Miss Romanoff was wearing any of the same sort. The last thought was forcibly wiped from his mind before he could dwell on it further.

Scanning the various choices of clothing, Loki only had one preference he'd like to voice out. "Do they sell any green garments?" he asked the agent.

Romanoff gave him a peculiar look, clearly not expecting him to have any predilection regarding fashion. "I think so."

"Good. Then I shall have those." Loki said, so self-assuredly. "A suit would be preferable as well." He refused to wear any of these inadequate clothes they had displayed.

"You're not wearing a three piece suit. We're here to buy you something practical, not a ball gown." Romanoff shook her head; this man was not getting the concept of being inconspicuous. "We can get you something green, but no suits."

Loki stared distastefully at the shirts, some of which already had names written on them. A great majority of them were owned by a man named Tommy Hilfiger while another was from Calvin Klein. These men have the audacity to believe that others would actually sport their cast-off clothes, and with their owners' names so palpably observable. Loki refused to be branded like cattle.

"I will not wear the clothes marked by another man. I wish for something plain and unbranded."

Romanoff gave him a perplexed look, and subsequently realized what he meant. "These aren't- Nevermind, something plain colored then?"

Loki gave a slight nod and followed Romanoff to a different set of racks bearing solid colored shirts. He chose several which he thought were usable, all of which were varying shades of green. Romanoff also assisted by tossing him some she thought suitable. He sneeringly rejected the scarlet hued ones. He would rather be nude than willingly wear Thor's color.

"Are you seriously going to wear all green?" Romanoff said, one eyebrow rising skeptically. Loki was carrying a pile of shirts ranging from pale green to the darkest emerald. The only exceptions were the black and grey ones that she had chosen.

"Yes, I am. It is a dignified color that befits my character. Do you have any qualms with my chosen apparel, _Natalie?_"

"No, none at all, _Tom."_She shrugged; it was a free country after all. If it's his choice to dress like Buttercup from the Powerpuff Girls, then so be it. At least, it's a step up from the helmet antlers.

Seemingly satisfied with the number of shirts, the couple moved on to their next target: pants. This was where the difficulty began. Loki did not know nor understand the concept of waist size. His armor and attire in Asgard were custom made and thus fitted him perfectly. The pants he was currently wearing however were slightly loose in comparison. Romanoff noticed this and began searching the racks for a smaller size.

"Here try this." She tossed him a pair of jeans.

"What fabric is this?" Loki asked as he felt the bizarre material.

"Denim. Now try it on, there's a fitting room in the corner."

Romanoff pointed towards an opening on the wall, barely noticeable unless one was to look closely. Loki, carrying his chosen garments with him, entered the small opening and found a row of cubicles, each fashioned with its own mirror and a small stool. It appears as though they expect me to undress inside those compartments, he thought. He entered one of them and began to strip off his Shield uniform then clothed himself in the denim pants Romanoff had selected for him and one of the green button up shirts he picked. They fit him perfectly, and surprisingly the denim fabric was a bit more flexible than the slacks.

He looked at the mortal in the mirror and was once again taken aback by the change. With the Earthling attire, his mortal disguise was complete. Unconsciously, a stray hand ran through his fair locks. The way his hair was cut though made him especially uneasy. They were straight with a slight wave at the bottom portion, and were relatively short. It was almost identical to his hair before he fell into the void, before he realized the truth, before…everything. The hair was a reminder of his foolish days as Odin's relic. Romanoff could not have known that, so it must be purely coincidence, right?

"Are you done in there, Tom?" Speak of the devil and she shall come.

Loki turned around and found the agent standing just outside the cubicle, carrying what seems to be a black article of clothing. For a second, a look of surprise crossed her face but was gone as quickly as it came. Her calculating eyes roamed his form, witnessing for the first time the full transformation of the once powerful god. Her gaze then turned to his face, and Loki noticed a faint flicker of something indescribable in those cerulean orbs.

Snapping out of their shared trance, Romanoff entered the cubicle. "You're supposed to close the door when you change." She said as she tossed him the black clothing. "Here, it's not your trench coat but it's close enough."

It was far shorter than his leather coat- the end only reaching up to his waist- and it had no sleeves, but the fabric felt like the suits he was so fond of.

"What is it?" Loki asked.

"A vest. See if it fits."

He was laying one arm in, when Romanoff's hands suddenly held the vest's collar. Loki did not notice that she had been so close to him. "Let me help you put this on." She spoke softly, but it sounded as though her voice reverberated throughout the room. He was about to question her unexpected actions when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching their cubicle.

A man, possibly another customer, walked past their cubicle and stopped for a moment to stare at the couple. He gave Romanoff a confused look, "Um, this is the men's fitting room. Miss, are you suppose to be here?"

Romanoff appeared embarrassed and bashfully lowered her head, thus allowing her to stare at the man through her lashes. "I'm sorry. I was just helping my boyfriend with his clothes. I mean, he's so clueless when it comes to fashion." Her hands suggestively trailed down the collar of the vest.

Understanding the implication, the man grinned impishly. "I'm sure. Well, close the door next time your boyfriend needs a helping hand." He gave Loki a wink and walked away muttering something along the lines of 'lucky man.'

Slightly scandalized, Loki inwardly cringed at the man's wink.

Romanoff then turned to him, all pretense gone; a blank canvas once again. Her eyes stared at him through her lashes, and Loki now knew what compelled the strange man to believe her lie. The cerulean blue orbs that seemed to penetrate through his soul with overpowering intensity made his throat dry and a detested sentiment flared deep within his gut. He felt the rapid beats of his heart once again, and wondered whether she could feel it through his vest. He received his answer when he felt the warmth of her hands abruptly leave his chest. It evoked some strange feeling of loss that he swiftly shoved aside.

"Thank you for your cooperation." She whispered curtly.

"It was a pleasure, Natalie." And through his denial, it really was.

* * *

They left the store carrying four bags full of assorted clothes. Loki had gentlemanly volunteered to carry half. Once again they braved the busy streets of Manhattan, but dodging the bystanders became even more difficult. If he had his magic, he would have easily forced these people to make way for him. And kneel while they're at it.

Romanoff led him to another location. It was a trading market, or at least the Midgardian version of one. A supermarket, they called it. Well, there wasn't anything super inside it. Just aisles full of goods and supplies, nothing extraordinary. Romanoff pulled out a metal cart, tossed their bags in it, and proceeded to take items off the shelf such bread, milk, and other trivial provisions.

Loki curiously eyed several items. Some he had not heard of before. What in the name of Odin was a Pop Tart?

Afterwards, they left carrying eight different bags. Loki was no longer gentlemanly enough to carry half, but still had to under the intense glare of one Natasha Romanoff. It was mid-noon by the time the finished all their shopping and hunger was starting to toll on them both. They entered a building with a sign depicting a two-tailed siren wearing a crown. He knew not what it was but it resembled some kind of tavern, only quieter with people drinking black colored drinks and reading. Romanoff ordered two of the ebony beverages and settled them on one of the tables.

"What is this?" he asked as she handed him one.

"Coffee. Don't worry it's not poisoned." She answered dryly.

He had heard of coffee before. It originally came from Middle Eastern Midgardians, but he guessed that over the centuries, it must have spread globally. He reluctantly sipped a bit, but recoiled when he felt it burn his tongue. "By the fires of Muspelheim."

Romanoff smirked. "Careful, it's hot."

He sent her a cold glare. "A bit too late for that." He said sardonically. "Do you have anything colder, perhaps?"

"There's iced coffee."

"I'd prefer that than this boiling magma."

She walked over to the counter and returned with a different cup. She handed it to him and he took a sip to counteract the burn on his tongue. It helped- a little.

"It's not that cold." He observed.

She shrugged and continued to sip her coffee. He checked the inside and noticed that there was more ice than actual liquid. Hm, he thought, Midgardian ice is not as cold as he had expected.

He enjoyed the coffee though, not that he would ever admit it. He continued to drink while Romanoff across the table stared at her own cup, seemingly in deep thought.

Today had actually been a rather interesting day. It didn't change his opinions on humanity, but it certainly gave him insight on how they worked. The incident at the fitting room however was ambiguous. He had also been making sure he was at his best behavior, and had purposely acted less hostile compared to yesterday, but not because he didn't want to be difficult. In fact, at first, he wanted to make Romanoff feel as miserable as he felt. But that wasn't the way to break a person such as Natasha Romanoff.

No, to break Natasha Romanoff, you had to do the complete opposite of what is expected, and always be one step ahead of the game.

It's time to set his plan in motion.

* * *

Today has been a long day, at least in Natasha's perspective. Stark's call had been a bad omen. And though she was over the fact that he had invaded her privacy, the headache that haunted her throughout the day was still entirely his fault. Too bad Starbucks doesn't serve vodka. She sure needed a swig right now. The coffee will have to do.

Loki has been unusually cooperative today. Aside from his picky fashion choices, he has been behaved for most of the day. Though, the incident at the fitting room was something she would have preferred to have never happened, it also proved that their cover was convincing as well. A few observations about her ward were also drawn. However she was not at the liberty to state a presumption on that matter; she did not want to assume to hastily.

Generally, Fury must have overdramatized the dangers of this mission. It's been far too easy for her liking.

"I forgot to congratulate you earlier this morning." Loki suddenly said.

Natasha looked confused as she lowered her cup. "What do you mean?"

"Your earlier lie to Agent Barton. It was quite impressive." He said as he continued to drink his coffee as he eyed her earnestly.

Still restraining her reaction, she couldn't help but be slightly curious. "Impressive?"

Loki flashed a smile before he lowered his cup. "Lying to an adversary doesn't amount to much; it's relatively anticipated. But to lie to someone who trusts you unconditionally, now that is the work of a true trickster. I find it reassuring to know that I wasn't bested by a layperson."

She glared suspiciously at the earthbound god. For a moment there, she thought he had complimented her in his own twisted way. There was definitely something wrong here.

He lowered his gaze and began to stare intensely into his coffee. "I thought extensively about my current…predicament. I realized that of all the other 'Avengers' Fury could have chosen, you were indeed the best choice for my sake."

"And what made you think that?" she asked.

"You and I are not so different, Agent Romanoff. Despite our different sides, I believe we could be able to find a common ground. And in the midst of our current situation, it would be very favorable for us to get along with each other." He said sincerely.

Loki leaned back on his chair with a smile that reached his eyes, the very image of cordiality. Natasha's hands tightened around her cup. There was something terribly wrong. This was the man who leveled a quarter of New York in a single afternoon, she reminded herself.

"I wasn't the one who acted rudely yesterday."

"I apologize for that, but you must understand my situation. Trapped in a world in which I do not belong and forced to seek assistance from the very people who tried to kill me, surely such circumstances aren't so easy to accept." He implored, his eyes searching hers. "I'm sorry for my discourteous behavior. I truly am grateful for all your help."

The agent eyed Loki warily. He can't be seriously thinking that she'd believe this garbage? Did he expect her to be that naive? She knows exactly what he's doing; she's done it so many times before. Appear complacent, trapped, then strike the moment the enemy lets his guard down. Classic move, unfortunately it only works when your opponent underestimates you. And Natasha knew _never _to underestimate Loki.

She could easily expose his scheme, make him realize that she's on to his plan, but then again what good will that do? It would quickly enforce the animosity between them and make living with this psycho even more dangerous. No, there could be another way. She understood him enough to know that he won't be fooled that easily, at least not anymore. He was smart and was also confident in his superiority, however, as proven before, that confidence could also lead to his downfall.

She'll play along; act agreeable. But she won't be fooled by his "change of heart." She'll play his game, but she will refuse to let him win.

"I accept your apology," she said, and offered a small smile. She watched for his reaction as she drank her coffee.

He raised his cup. "To this new truce," he smiled mischievously. "May it be beneficial for both of us."

Some voice at the back of Natasha's head that faintly resembled Tony Stark's kept insisting on one thing: _"__He likes to play with his food and darling, you're one fine piece of work."_

* * *

Alaska was a barren wasteland of nothingness that much Clint knew. He was not a fan of the weather; neither was he a fan of the snow. He preferred weather where he could wear his sunglasses and not look like an out of place tourist. Besides, the cold reminded him too much of his stay in Russia; not so happy memories, he recalled. But a mission is a mission, no matter how inconvenient. Flakes of snow littered the marksman's eyes, annoying him immensely as he stumbled to see what a few meters in front of him were. As a man who valued his vision, the impairing blindness of the blizzard frustrated Clint Barton like no other. He released a sigh of relief once he entered the safety of research facility, the mechanical door hissed behind him locking away the blizzard's frosty gusts. Though it was still cold by his standards, Clint was silently grateful that Shield was considerate enough to add a heater. He took off the outer layer of his uniform, a bulky jacket that made him look like a marshmallow, and headed towards the main area.

The main area was riddled with different stations, but was basically one gigantic dome of holograms and machines. A large circular platform projecting a large hologram of Earth stood in the middle of it all. Scientists wearing white lab coats strolled around carrying transparent touch-screen clipboards and muttering calculations and findings so quickly that Clint wondered whether they had their own dialect. It wasn't like the main HQ. No, the helicarrier was a fine, well-oiled machine with working ants. This, this was a nest of bees.

"Agent Barton! Over here." Selvig called out. He stood on the platform at the middle of the room, talking to a scraggly scientist that seemed to be taking notes.

Clint walked over to him. Under the light of the hologram, the Professor's sickly pale skin shined, and the hollow bags beneath his eyes appeared more prominent. Honestly, Selvig looked just plain horrible. Well, Clint wasn't exactly one to judge: he wasn't a ray of sunshine either. In some strange way, the marksman was slightly relieved that he wasn't alone with the nightmares. Selvig and he shared an understanding; only they could bear the guilt of helping a madman nearly take over the world.

"Professor, how are you doing?"

"I imagine I'm doing as well as you are." The professor said soberly, and shared a look of understanding with the agent. "Excuse me, I'll be right with you."

Selvig turned back to the researcher and continued their conversation. "It'll be a couple days till we have the satellite in place, but once that's through we can start with the real work. How long until we get the machine parts from Stark Industries?"

"At least a week, sir." The scraggly scientist fidgeted a bit with the clipboard.

"We don't know if there'll still be any trace of the energy left by that time." Selvig said worriedly, "Send a message to Stark and tell him to get the parts ready pronto."

The scientist nodded understandingly, jotted down a few notes on his clipboard, and left. Selvig massaged his temple as he turned his haunted eyed to Clint. "As interesting as this work is, I'm afraid it's starting to take its toll on me."

You and I both, Clint silently added. They were both worn out; a week of recuperating still hadn't improved their less than stable condition. Clint wanted to ask Selvig about his own nightmares, but that was a question best saved for later. Right now, he needed to be professional. "And what exactly is the work?" Clint asked.

"We're making a map." A new voice piped up.

Clint turned to see a young woman, a brunette with sharp brown eyes, wearing one of the white lab coats and carrying a folder of notes that seemed ready to burst at any moment. She must be one of the physicists, he inferred. Selvig stopped scrolling and gestured to the young woman. "Barton, I'd like you to meet Jane. She'll be my partner from now on. Jane, this is Clint Barton, one of the Avenger boys I told you about."

"Hi, Jane Foster." She said as she gave him a friendly smile and extended her hand. "So you're an Avenger, huh? Well, thanks for saving the world and all. Really appreciate it."

"No thanks needed. Just doing my job." Clint shook her hand, not liking how cliché his response was.

She looked curiously at him. "So, you've seen Thor."

"Buff blondie with the hammer?" The muscular Asgardian wasn't difficult to miss, especially considering his boisterous voice that echoed like thunder. He also faintly remembered him during the New Mexico incident as the guy he nearly shot. Well, it's a good thing Thor didn't know that. "Yeah, I met him. He was a big help in taking down his crazy brother."

Jane gave him a smile. "Well, if you see him again, tell him Jane has some questions that need answering." She strode away, leaving a very confused marksman behind.

Clint turned to Selvig for answers. The older man took off his glasses and shook his head. "She's been waiting for Thor to come back since the New Mexico fiasco. Was a bit disappointed that he didn't drop by during his last visit, but then again she can't blame him. He had a lot on his hands that time."

"What did she say about a map?" Clint asked.

"We don't have the Tesseract anymore so Fury's decided to go another route." Selvig turned to the Earth hologram, tapping a few buttons on the controller as the image panned out into the solar system and then to the galaxy. "Using the notes Jane made, we're going to construct a map, a map of, supposedly, the nine realms in the cosmos. Of course this is purely theoretical, but according to Jane, Thor said something about a bridge, similar to an Einstein-Rosen Bridge, that connects these realms." The hologram shifted, small threads emerged from the Milky Way and spread out like tentacles. "If we were to plot these bridges and find out which one connects what, we could potentially find a way to monitor them. So that nothing gets out-"

"-Or gets in." Clint finished.

* * *

"_LOKI LAUFEYSON!"_

_Loki cringed and bowed reflexively. A familiar feeling emitted through him: a mixture of fear, respect and deference. At once he felt the powerful aura towering over him. He should have known he would find him sooner or later. He was naïve to think that they had spared him. "I apologize for my defeat, sire. I didn't expect- I severely underestimated the Earthlings. I should ha-"_

_"Save your excuses, boy. I knew you could not be trusted with such a task. Because of you stupidity, you have cost me an army and humiliated me in front of my beloved. For that, I should smite you where you stand."_

_Loki clenched his eyes shut, knowing the sadistic nature of the Being, he was expecting a brutal, painful and slow death._

_"But, I won't. Your feeble soul doesn't deserve to enter my love's kingdom. To send a coward like you would be an insult. You might still be of use to me. Thanks to your foolishness, a greater opportunity has presented itself. These Earthlings, the 'Avengers', are a perfect gift to my beloved. The Earth's Mightiest Heroes," Loki flinched as the Being emitted a mocking laugh. "A ridiculous title that befits these measly humans. Lady Death will surely find them a wonderful addition to her collection. And you reside with one of these 'Avengers' do you not?"_

_The former god perked at the chance to redeem himself. "Yes, a woman. She's a skilled human, but a human nonetheless. What do you need me to do?"_

_The Being smirked maliciously. "I need you to plant a seed of doubt. The Avengers are only formidable once they're assembled; separated they become nothing more than sheep waiting for the slaughter. If you succeed, I shall release you from your mortal bounds and return to you what you desire: your magic."_

_His magic. Loki couldn't contain a gleeful grin. Oh to feel the power surging through him again. To take revenge on the miscreants that dared defy him. The Man of Iron, the Good Captain, the Archer, the Spy, and of course his dear brother. Yes, yes, he will do anything. "I understand. I will not fail you this time, sire. You have my word."_

_"Do not fail me again. Or you will soon learn there is a far more gruesome faith than living a hapless mortal life. I ask you to prepare yourself, Laufeyson. Because of your disappointment, I must personally finish the task you started. We shall meet again soon."_

Loki awoke, sweating and disheveled as he processed the message he received from Thanos. His eyes were wide, glowing a luminous shade of blue at the chance at revenge and redemption. So hopeful was he that he didn't notice the strings connecting him to the puppet master, the foreign sense of subjugation latching into his mind and heart, the invisible power compelling him to obey. Loki was not himself.

* * *

DUN DUN DUN...and the plot thickens. Well, wasn't that a whirlwind of surprises (not really since most of you probably suspected the last part). See? I had a reason for getting rid of Clint. I didn't just get rid of him because he disturbs the Natasha/Loki attraction (although that _was _partly the reason).

The shopping scene was actually where I got writers' blocked. So, I remedied that by actually going to Macy's and trying to look at everything through Loki's perspective. It was a very..._insightful_ experience.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot to ask: What's the official Natasha/Loki ship name? I've heard names ranging from BlackFrost to Natoki to GreenSpider.

Anyway, don't forget to _**REVIEW**_! Tell me what you think will happen next. Regarding their "truce", who do you think is playing who?


	6. The Puppet Strings

After almost a week of silence, I have returneddd!.

I swear I have a very legit reason for my absence. One word: camping. A week of being in the woods has been very educational. Thanks to my parents, I have learned a lot. I no longer undervalue the importance of indoor plumbing.

Also, I apologize (once again) for my _very _late update. I solemnly swear I am not abandoning this story. But, while I was starving in the woods, I'm pleasantly surprised by the amount of Blackfrost (that's what the majority of you call it) fics that have been posted. This ship is sailing well. You guys deserve a cookie!

Thanks also for the reviewers! You are all awesome. I'm getting mixed reactions on the who's playing who question. Some think it's Loki, others think it's Natasha. Well, I'm afraid you'll just have to wait a bit more for the answer, because this chapter doesn't have it. :)

Special thanks as usual to my beta, **E. Edwin. **Grammar Nazis can save your fic, people. They can stop you from looking like an awkward turtleduck.

Anywho, I won't trouble you anymore with my ramblings and lame excuses. Back to your regularly scheduled program:

* * *

Chapter 5: The Puppet Strings

New York never sleeps, so the saying goes. At midnight, when the sounds of police sirens and the light of the moon are the only company you have, the city is in motion. The majority of its citizens may be at home, asleep or attending to their own business, but there are a few, the nocturnal, the desolate, that roam the streets. At night, the darker side of the city seeps through its cracks into its alleys. The rotten side of the Big Apple shows itself, and the worms crawl out into the open. Perhaps the proper phrase was not that New York never sleeps. It does.

Just with one eye open.

A group of teenagers, far too young to be out this late, gregariously laugh and chat beneath the fire escape. Natasha could see them, smoking and drinking, unaware of her watch. It wasn't their boisterous laughter that awoke her. She was already awake before they were even there.

She leaned on the fire escape's railing on the apartment's second floor, curiously watching the kids ruin their lives with a bottle of alcohol and a stick of tobacco beneath her. She wasn't mad or disgusted. Currently, annoyed was perhaps her closest companion at the moment. The young were ignorant, insensitive, and free- an experience Natasha never had the liberty to feel. Mistakes like those were not an option for someone in her profession.

Natasha watched as the two of the teens-a couple- began drunkenly making out. The girl giggled annoyingly as she clung to the boy for dear life, totally oblivious as to how luckless their relationship was. The assassin frowned at the pair, a bitter resentment flaring. What had she done at their age? She built a frightening repertoire from a mountain of successful missions, was able to speak several different languages, donned too many aliases to remember, seduced too many men to count, and sold her skills and her soul to the highest bidder. Love was for children. Natasha had lost her childhood the moment she shot her first gun.

_"Now, my little Tsarina, aim for the target and pull the trigger. That's my girl. Always make sure to hit either the heart or the head, that way you're sure they're dead."_

The cold metal was like a second limb to her. She could detach it whenever she wanted, but the loss left her empty and purposeless- a musician without her instrument. It's not that she can't survive without it; she is perfectly capable unarmed. But the metal provided a comfort of sorts. Without it, she would be left to kill with her bare hands- feel the warm blood flow down her fingers, tainting her. The gun was a scapegoat for her conviction that it was the one being used- not her.

_"You are trained to kill. From now on, your sole duty is to the mission…nothing more, nothing less."_

At the moment, the cold barrel of the gun was safely locked away in a holster around her leg, hidden by her flimsy night gown. She could easily pull it out and shoot the incessant teens point blank; add several more names into her kill list. But, she wouldn't. It was just an entertaining notion that years ago, in the old days of Natalia Romanova, she wouldn't have hesitated to.

It was cold nights like these, when the dark and barren souls roam the streets that reminded her of Russia, of the gruesome nights filled with red. The caress of the frosty wind carrying the whispers of her past forced open old wounds. Wounds which she knew would never heal. One can only hope to stop the bleeding.

"I see I'm not the only one suffering from sleepless nights."

Natasha jumped at the voice, and mentally cursed for allowing herself to fall too deep into her thoughts. The former god's shadow was in her peripheral, dimly illuminated by the streetlights below them. She did not turn to greet Loki, after all it's not as though he was welcome to intrude in the first place. She heard him approach, his steps causing the worn steel of the fire escape to creek, and felt his presence beside her.

"Nightmares, I presume?" he asked her.

She glared.

"I will take that as a yes." Loki gave her a sly smirk. He trailed the line of her sight, and noticed the teenagers beneath the fire escape. They laughed boisterously, drunkenly wobbling on their legs while they shared high-fives. One couple was too concerned with each other to notice anything else. Loki sneered as they continued to kiss passionately, completely ignoring anything or anyone else around them.

"Carefree little creatures, aren't they?" he commented sourly. "I assume those two won't last very long."

Natasha nodded absentmindedly. For once, they actually agreed on something.

"Young love… or is it lust? I can never tell. You would think that man who's lived a million millennia would be able to differentiate between the two. Emotions were never my forte. They are too chaotic even for me to grasp. That's possibly one of the reasons why I never fit well in Asgard. Impetuous crowd, they are. "

He was babbling and was purposely trying to draw a reaction from her. She ignored him, hoping that he would grow bored and simply leave her alone. But it seems as though the God of Mischief enjoyed hearing the sound of his own voice far too much.

"Yes, impetuous. Not something you'd expect from a crowd of immortal beings, but wisdom doesn't always come with age. They're not as reckless as humans, but you could very well say that they are like-minded." He turned away from the streets, his back leaning against the steel railing. Raising his head towards the sky, he gazed pensively at the starless night.

Natasha idly wondered what the former god was doing awake at this time. She thought the shopping trip yesterday was enough to drain whatever energy he had left. It certainly left her drained. What she would give for a good night's rest. Unfortunately, it was simply by chance that the other night's nightmare chose to relive itself. She could not fall back to sleep when the memory was still so vivid.

His emerald eyes, distant yet incredibly penetrating, turned away from the stars and settled on her. "Agent Romanoff, I realize you are not in the proper disposition to respond, but please indulge me with a conversation."

"Why? So, you could play your mind games on me?" She scoffed.

"No," Loki shifted so that he was facing her, his right arm leaning heavily on the railing. His voice lowered into a whisper. "I swore a truce and no matter what you think of me, I do go by my word. I shall not play these 'games'. I simply wish for a decent conversation. Besides," He smiled sadly. "A distraction might be therapeutic. Especially, after a night riddled with terror."

Natasha turned to him, definite in her decision that she would hold her tongue. But a look, a desperate air surrounded the former god, telling her that his statement didn't just point to her. Was it possible that the Loki had nightmares of his own?

Surely, Loki wasn't suffering the same troubles. She thought the God of Mischief dwelled within the realms of nightmares, immune to feeble terrors that torment mortals. Then again, with a thousand lifetimes of memories, he had a varied array of horrors that could haunt him. It was certainly not something she envied.

She was aware that pity or some other pathetic sentiment clouded her decision. But she would indulge him- just this once. God knows they both need a distraction.

"What would you like to talk about? Shakespeare? Mythology? The pathetic-ness of mortal existence?" Natasha gave him an acidic smirk. Just because she would converse with him doesn't mean that she had to be pleasant. Inwardly, she was slightly surprised at how Tony Stark she sounded at the moment.

He grinned, a grateful spark veiled within his eyes. Natasha saw it, but she wasn't sure the man intended her to see past his mask. "I would love to talk about the latter. However, I feel as though we'd find ourselves with contradicting thoughts on that one." Loki's attention trailed once again to the teenagers beneath the fire escape. "Something trivial, perhaps. What do you predict will happen to those two love-sick buffoons?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow at his peculiar choice. Making fun of others was probably a hobby of his. It seemed befitting his character. "I think that they'll probably end up like any drunken teenage hook up: a one night stand, pregnancy, abandonment, and a single mother for life."

"Well, aren't you the romantic." Loki said sardonically. "Any chance for a happy ending within your prophecy?"

A thoughtful look crossed her face as she leaned her head against her palm. "After finding out how luckless their parent's marriage was, their children would make sure to never repeat the same mistake as them. How's that for a happy ending."

Loki grinned and slightly chuckled at her response. "I quite enjoy your view of the world, Miss Romanoff. I certainly am not inclined to live in it though."

Slightly taken aback by his laugh, Natasha couldn't help but notice the very 'human' way the former god was acting. His eyes lit up, looking almost luminescent- a striking emerald green amidst the grey night. He was acting like an entirely different person. "What's your take on the situation then?"

"I never said I disagreed with your prediction. I do find the part about the children to be surprisingly optimistic. Almost a bit too…_hopeful _for reality." Almost at once, the smile disappeared and a frown took its place. "Redemption is not so easily achieved in real life."

"I know." Oh, she _knew_. Natasha knew first-hand how difficult it was to turn away from the past, to forget the principles imbedded in her soul. She knew perfectly well how to _unmake_ her old self. "But people change and that's a fact no one can argue. It's difficult, not impossible."

She could tell Loki was a bit skeptical. He shook his head, a small bitter smirk on his lips. "Difficult." He repeated. "That is an understatement. Yet, you forget that _change _is ambiguous. There is no guarantee it is for the better. How will you know that the children won't repeat the same mistakes of their predecessors?"

"You can never _know _that. It's impossible to know the future. This is just a prediction remember. I'm simply stating what will most likely happen."

"And you believe that their children have a chance at a decent life?" Loki saw the teenage couple scandalously kissing against the building's brick wall; just a jumbled mess of legs, teeth, lips and moans.

"Just let your conscience be your guide." She said the phrase nostalgically.

"That's completely illogical."

"It's an allusion."

"I'm afraid I don't understand that reference."

"I know you wouldn't. Remind me to show you Pinocchio one day." Natasha smirked. "I'm sure you'll learn a _lot_ from it."

"I'm certain I will." He said sarcastically. "It's still completely illogical."

"My point _is_," Natasha stared directly into his eyes, her hands involuntarily clenched tight on the steel railings. "Second chances can happen."

Flashes of a dank warehouse, the sound of rain, the blood trickling down her cheek, the gravel scrapping her knees and the feeling of surrender as the arrow is targeted straight at her heart; the assassin finally cornered. I will die and I deserve it, she remembered thinking. . The bow's string hummed as the Shield agent prepared the finishing move. She did not expect the marksman to make an entirely different call.

"Nothing is completely hopeless." Natasha repeated the words Clint said to her.

Loki was silent for a while. He gazed intensely at a distance, contemplating, eyes squinted as though he were trying desperately to understand the irrational notion. Natasha didn't expect him to.

"To believe, when all is deemed unpromising. Is this what mortals call_ 'faith'_?" He asked, his voice barely a whisper, yet felt as though it was reverberating through the bleak streets.

She nodded solemnly.

"Do you have faith, Miss Romanoff?" Loki asked.

Natasha was never a very faithful person. Doubt was second nature to her; a survival instinct that has saved her so many times in the past. In her line of work, faith without facts was considered a weakness. That's why it surprised her when Clint Barton took a chance; believed in a broken killer even when she didn't. It was unprofessional and absurd, and she imagined Fury chewed him out for weeks after that. But, somehow, someway, Clint Barton endured it all—just to give Natalia Romanova another chance at a different life.

Barton has faith in her, that she was certain. But, did she have faith? Could Natasha Romanoff, a skilled assassin, raised to be a murderer, corrupted and jaded ever believe so blindly?

"I don't know." She admitted.

She gave a sigh, so much for 'something trivial'. For some reason, their conversation went from flippantly predicting the fate of two reckless teenagers to reflecting on the meaning of faith and change. She did not expect this conversation to lead this way, and secretly feared that she might have divulged too much. This is why I don't do small talk; she mentally kicked herself.

Surprisingly, Loki didn't emit any malicious intent, at least as far as she could tell. He stood silently beside her, eyes glazed, contemplating their conversation. She sneaked a glimpse at the unusually quiet man. His brows were furrowed, lips stretched in a strained line, his posture was stiff as his elbows rested on the railing, and his hands were clenched in fists in front of him. He looked like a man trying to conquer an internal battle.

* * *

Loki's jaw clenched as she said those words. He did not know why, but a cold heaviness settled within him. '_Nothing is completely hopeless,' _the words echoed within the hollow caverns of his heart, striking his core, summoning _something. _A conscience? No, it was more than just that. Like a memory, a very strong one- a memory with a voice. He felt it swimming in his head, faintly touching his consciousness, yet recoiling away before he had the chance to fully grasp it.

He felt Romanoff's gaze on him and quickly masked his expression, though he suspected she already took a glimpse of his turmoil. He would worry about that later. For now, he needed to think.

He excused himself, saying that sleep was starting to take over. Natasha gave him a dismissive wave and returned to her brooding. What began as a simple information retrieval disguised as a harmless conversation, later evoked something more. Something he thought was gone long ago, but had felt stirring within him for the past few days. Sporadic memories flashing through his head, random bursts of ridiculous sentiment, and a voice, so familiar yet so strange, whispering unintelligible gibberish; there was something quite amiss with his mind.

Loki did not return to his room. Instead, he quietly entered the bathroom, flinching as the brightness of the light bulbs blinded him for a moment. Placing his hands on the corner of the sink, he gazed into his reflection on the mirror. The sight of his new appearance still shocked him, but not as intensely as before. Now, something new bothered him more. The hollow bags beneath his eyes, the sunken cheeks were startling. Never had he thought the sleepless nights have troubled him this much.

He closed his eyes and concentrated.

The cosmos was all around him, galaxies whirling pass in a sea of glittering stars. He recalled painfully falling- crashing more or less- on a barren planet. He felt the Chitauri dragging his beaten body towards the Other. He saw the face of Thanos, red eyes ablaze with delight and adorning menacing grin that chilled even the Frost Giant. The deal was then made: a Chitauri Army in exchange for the Tesseract. Revenge on Thor in exchange for—for what?

Then, a tug, a violent pull brought him back to the present. His eyes widened with shock. Slightly panting, he discovered the cause. Loki knew a barrier when he felt it. And this was a _very _strong one. A portion of his mind was blocked off, for reasons he did not know, but could only suspect. It was isolating a memory, or quite possibly _memories, _from his knowledge. And Loki did _not _like to be kept in the dark.

He gazed into his own eyes. What was he looking for? Something, anything that might explain this sensation overwhelming him. There was nothing though, just his face, so familiar yet so hallow. A finger trailed his emerald eyes on the mirror.

The sudden flash of blue was all he needed to confirm his suspicions.

* * *

"Professor, I was wondering if I could talk you." Clint said as he caught up with the retreating elder man. "Just for a moment."

The professor was heading towards the sleeping quarters on the back side of the complex to retire for the night, when the archer hastily called after him. "What is it, Agent Barton?" He asked drowsily. The day's work has been both rewarding and tiring.

"Sorry, I know you need your sleep—trust me, we both do –but, we need to discuss something very important." Clint rested hand on Selvig's shoulder, his eyes serious. "It's about the nightmares."

Selvig shook his head. "Agent Barton, just leave it alone. It's best that we push the past behind us." He pushed Clint's hand away, and turned to the sleeping quarters like, in Clint's perspective, a cowering child afraid to face the monster.

No, the archer wouldn't give up so easily. He was stubborn, almost to the point of bull-headedness. "Professor!" He quickly kept pace with Selvig, refusing to be left unheard. "Please, we have to talk. This isn't going away anytime soon, we both know that."

Closing his eyes and walking faster, Selvig tried to tune out Clint. However, glimpses of his time in Loki's control swept pass his closed lids. He remembered feeling the unbridled joy, the enthusiastic urge to serve, and glorious enlightenment he believed Loki gave him. Peace, Selvig thought, was born from an imagined world where there was no freedom. He inwardly cringed at the notion.

"Barton, just let it be. It'll go away in time."

"No, it isn't. And you know it." Clint insisted. His voice lowered apprehensively. "They're getting _worse_, Professor."

Selvig stopped on his tracks. They were; he couldn't deny that. On some nights, the professor couldn't even get any sleep without the fear of seeing the trickster's face in his dreams once again.

Finally, he's seeing sense, Clint thought. "I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in over a week. I can't concentrate, I can't think straight, I can't even close my eyes without seeing that bastard's smirk. There are times when I feel something _poking _around in my mind. Like it's trying to open up an old wound. There's something wrong with us."

"It can't be. Loki's back in Asgard, imprisoned, or better yet dead. There's no way he could-"

"That's just it, Professor." Clint said, his voice straining, a troubled expression on his face. He restrained his hands from shaking as he finally voiced his suspicion. "I don't think it's Loki."

Selvig lowered his head, considering the grave implications of the realization. Like any remarkable scientist, Eric Selvig pondered the various possibilities. The unavoidable "what if" questions followed his train of thought. What if Loki was just the first phase of the plan? What if he was just a pawn like the rest of them? What if there's something _bigger _behind all this?

"What can we do?" The professor, for all his years, never felt as helpless as this.

Clint's hands clenched tightly. "I don't know. But, I have this sick feeling in my stomach telling me it's not over."

* * *

With Thanos's appearance at the last chapter, I'm going to start picking up the pace with this fic. Bring on the drama!

What do you think? Don't forget to _**REVIEW**_ guys :D


	7. Losing Control

Alright, another late chapter. I have no excuses this time, I swear. Though, I commend all of you for your patience. And the Reviews—gosh—words cannot describe how I appreciate you guys.

This is a surprisingly long chapter (yay) so I guess that's a bonus for you all. I also find out that I really enjoy writing Tony Stark, but not Steve Rogers. Hm...interesting.

Thanks as always to **E. Edwin,** my beta reader, for her edits on this chapter. Still as awesome as ever.

Oh, and I realized I should start doing this:

_Disclamer: I don't own the Avengers. They are all respective properties of Marvel. _

* * *

Chapter 6: Losing Control

Tony Stark is a people person. He knows exactly how to charm the public with his dashing smile and humorously dry wit. Generally, crowds tend to look unfavorably on narcissistic businessmen. However, with the heroics of Iron Man and the charisma of a rock star, Tony Stark has become what many thought impossible: a billionaire that everyone actually trusts. What can he say? It's a gift.

Yet there are always the few that don't quite see things his way. The "Constipators", Tony calls them. No amount of witty jokes could ever remove the mile high pole stuck in their butts. Not that he doesn't try- he does. But over the years, he has come to a conclusion: he wasn't the King Arthur to their Excaliburs. The Constipators will just have to suffer with being uptight and prudish for the rest of their miserable lives. Thankfully, this particular breed of people is rare. Never has Tony witnessed more than five of them in a crowd—until today.

"What do you mean the press won't buy it?" The Shield Director was the very personification of his name: Fury. His hands loudly slammed the steel table in front of him. Tony didn't flinch, but Steve Rogers, who sat beside him, sat at attention; his back suddenly rigid and eyes looking straight ahead, a reflex of his army training. Tony rolled his eyes at the display before turning back to the infuriated Director.

"I mean, I sold it like a car salesman, smiled like Miss Universe, and even gave a joke or two. They still won't buy it. They didn't believe a word of it." The composed billionaire sat at the meeting table, unblinkingly watching the man's only eye bulge in anger. "Constipators," Tony mumbled as though it were a curse. You'd think they'd believe the guy that saved their butts. Oh right, they don't know that he did. Apparently, people don't like it when their government sends a nuclear missile to blow up a city. Fury conveniently left that part out of the cover story. The one time Tony Stark becomes selfless and nobody knows it.

"You were supposed to make the public believe the cover story." Nick Fury practically yelled as he towered over Tony.

The billionaire stared up at the director's livid expression, internally deducing that the best response would be to explain his failure. "You can't expect me to sell a clichéd excuse like that so enthusiastically." Tony said a cheeky smile on his face.

"You sold the Stark Expo situation well enough."

"That was different." Tony quickly defended. "Vanko wasn't a war god with an army of alien dinosaurs."

Ever the peacekeeper, and sensing that the Director was close to strangling the billionaire, Steve Rogers attempted to relax the suffocating pressure that permeated the room. "Are you sure you tried everything, Stark?" he asked earnestly.

Tony gave him a pointed look, an annoyed scowl already present. "Do you think I'd come here if I didn't?" He turned back to Fury. "I bribed the living daylights out of those journalists. They'll air whatever I want them to, but they know that it's nothing more than lies."

"They're still going to air it though. So, what's the problem?" Steve asked, confused.

"The problem is," Tony turned his chair to him, slowly explaining the situation as though he were speaking to a toddler, his hands recreating gestures to further describe his words. "The press likes stories. Good stories. Bad stories don't give good ratings. What we gave them as _not _a good story. So, even though I probably paid off their retirement, they'll do a lousy job selling it."

Steve glared at him. "I'm not a child, Stark. I'd appreciate it if you stop talking to me like I am one."

"Really? Because being stuck as an ice sculpture for over half a century sure makes you look like one."

"Enough! I've had enough of your bickering." Fury yelled, his voice echoing the four corners of the meeting room, and possibly even the whole Helicarrier. His hands slammed the table, and Steve once again sat like an over-eager Labrador. Tony simply folded his arms, slightly disappointed that his "genius" rhetoric was cut short.

A tense silence echoed around the room. The Director massaged the bridge of his nose in an attempt to calm his growing headache. One would think that after the alien invasion these two would learn to cooperate. But apparently it'll take more than the near annihilation of the world for the two superheroes to get along.

After a lengthy, awkward silence, one where Tony did nothing but lazily scope out the positions of the security cameras, Steve Rogers chose that moment voice what he thought was an obvious solution to the problem. "Why don't we just tell them the truth?"

The Director gave a sigh. "Rogers, I know you mean well but this is not the time-" He began.

"Then when is the time to tell them, Sir? When another invasion comes? Or when a nuclear warhead actually succeeds in blowing up a city?" Steve said with sudden confidence. " The people deserve to know the truth, for their safety and for ours. We can't always keep them in the dark. They trust the Avengers to defend them—not to lie to them. If we continue to lie, and the day comes when they find out what_ really_ happened in Manhattan last week. Then, we're all dead." He gave Fury a meaningful look. "Sometimes, you underestimate people far too much."

Steve was well aware that Tony—and to an extent, Fury—thought he was a naïve old-timer, but they forget a crucial part of his identity: he was first and foremost a soldier _for _the people. He will always stand up for what he believes is right. The good old eternal Boy Scout, Tony thought. It was moments like these where the Captain America that Howard Stark gushed so enthusiastically about came to light.

"You know what? I _actually _agree with Little Boy Blue this time." Tony said. His brows furrowed, slightly taken aback at how strange the words that came out of his mouth were.

Even Steve was surprised. Did Tony Stark just back him up?

"You do?" he said skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

"Trust me. I'm just as shocked as you are." He then turned to Fury. "Cap has got a good point though. The people obviously think we're some kind of superhero squad out to protect them. It's best if we stay in their good graces. If they ever find out that we hid something this big from them, I don't wanna be the one getting chased by an angry mob. I'm sorry but I don't plan on being burned at the stake for your sake. Besides, Fury, you of all people should know how destructive secrets can be."

"I also know how _necessary_ they are," the Director said stiffly. A thoughtful look then crossed his face. "But, you do have good points. I'll think about it a bit more. For now, just keep selling the cover story. We need to keep up appearances. Dismissed."

Steve was the first one up, eager to leave the suffocating room. He hesitated for a moment at the doorway, before turning back to Tony. "Stark, thanks for the support." he said with a faint smile.

"Whatever, Rogers. After having your back and self-sacrificing myself, I think I've filled my good deed quota for life." Which Steve has come to translate as Stark's way of saying "You're welcome." He smiled and shook his head as he walked out of the meeting room.

"Fury, I need to talk to you about something." Tony said as the Director headed out.

"I don't have time, Stark."

"It's about our little green visitor." That caught his attention. Locking the door behind him, Fury returned to his seat at the head of the table.

"What about him?" Fury asked, his lone eye narrowing suspiciously and gestured Tony to continue.

"Well, you already told me why he's in New York—something about criminals don't return to the scene of the crime and whatnot—but you never actually told me why he's here in the first place. I mean, for a guy who's trying to hide the existence of aliens from the world, why hoard a potentially dangerous psychopath in the first place? Isn't that a bit counterintuitive?"

Fury lowered his head. "It may seem that way, but trust me when I say Loki's presence on Earth has…_broader _prospects."

"Like?"

Taking a deep breath, Fury began to explain the main reason why he agreed to the task in the first place. He trusted Tony so far, and it was also useful that at least two members of the Avengers know about this. Even though a gut feeling told him that Tony would find out whether Fury told him or not.

"When Thor came to me, trust me when I say that I didn't agree out of the kindness of my heart. I was all ready to refuse the offer and send him packing back to where he came from. That is until he gave me an offer I couldn't refuse: An alliance with Asgard."

"Say what?" Tony scoffed.

"As of last week, he universe just got a hell lot bigger, Stark. And I'm guessing the Chitauri aren't the only ones bold enough to attack us."

"But, you have us. I thought we were you first line of defense." Not that Tony was enthusiastic with fighting aliens, but it was nice to think that he was one of the Earth's saviors. It was a great boost to his already inflated ego.

"I trust your team, but none of us know exactly what's out there. None of us are trained for this, but the Asgardians are. So just in case anything like last week happens again, we at least have someone to fall back on. Thor had a little talk with his dad and as far as I'm concerned the Allfather has agreed. As long as we keep Loki safe and in Earth, they'll watch over us."

Tony was a little speechless. "Wow, you _really _thought this over didn't you."

"Impressed?" Fury said with a little smirk.

"No." He lied.

The Director stood up and headed towards the door. "Years of being in this business you learn that gaining allies can really turn the tides." As he said that, Tony realized just how _old_ Fury was. Though, it was still a bit difficult to tell with the eye patch on. The ultimate spy, Tony mused, he could only imagine what kind of skeletons the guy had in_ his _closet. Maybe it's worth a little look. Fury turned to him as if sensing his intentions. Or maybe not.

"What about Natasha?" Tony asked offhandedly.

"What about her?"

"You really think she can handle Loki?"

Fury released a cryptic chuckle. "Stark, she's probably the only one who can."

* * *

The flash of blue in his irises was no hallucination, he swore. He was being controlled and there was a barrier blocking memories in his mind. With this troubling information plaguing him, it was no wonder Loki couldn't sleep. Repeatedly, he questioned how he could have let this happen, how he, a master manipulator himself, could have been so unaware of the puppet strings blatantly pulling him. How many of his actions were his own, and how many were instigated by the Mad Titan?

One thing was for sure though: Loki did _not_ like being a pawn. He did not like it when Odin was the one using him, and _still _does not like it now.

The strings were still there. Now that he was aware of their presence, he could feel the mental link latching into his subconscious like a blood-sucking leach. But, for whatever reason, the puppet master's grip had loosened. Why? Loki remembered the nightmare that woke him last night; it was about Thanos. There were subtle shadows, shapes, and a booming voice that shook him to the core. Loki recalled the Titan towering over him, speaking—no, _ordering_ him to do _something. _He tried desperately, but could not remember exactly what that "something" was. Every time he tried, a force would push him back, and Loki would recoil painfully. Were there other instances when he was shut off from the world, when he was but a trapped soul inside his own body? He did not know. A nagging suspicion was that the answers were hidden within the memories the barrier was blocking. The dream and the barricaded memories were both vital, and both as muddled and hidden as one another.

This frustrated him greatly. It was as though the puzzle was there in his grasp, yet some of the pieces were missing. The vital one, the keystone that would hold all the parts together, was gone. Now, he was left to solve the puzzle without knowing what the finished product would be. The Titan had a bigger plot in play; one that the liesmith could not comprehend for it was all a jumbled mess. He needed to solve it, because he had a faint suspicion that everything is about to unfold _very _soon, and it would not be good for him nor for the rest of the cosmos.

Before he could handle with the larger dilemma, first and foremost, Loki needed to deal with the Titan that still lurked within the confines of his mind. Thanos could tighten his grip on the reins at any moment, reducing the Frost Giant to nothing more than a zombified steed once again. Loki knew not when this change would return, but he knew his time was short. For now, while he's still in full control, he needed find a way to release himself from Thanos' power.

And he knew the exact person to help.

Creeping out of his bedroom and to the living room, Loki found her asleep on the couch, looking strangely vulnerable. Her hands were folded to provide a makeshift pillow for her head; her plump mouth was slightly ajar, and her breast rose and fell with each breath. It was hypnotic. Loki couldn't help but secretly admire the way the sunrise casted an ethereal glow around her, and how her scarlet hair contrasted beautifully with the black leather couch. He could quote something poetic—something about maidens and innocence—but those were hollow words that didn't befit her character. Innocence was a far from what he would use to describe Natasha Romanoff.

Her nightgown hitched up to her upper thighs, revealing a generous amount of skin. Loki's eyebrows went up at the sight of the gun holster firmly strapped around her thigh. He wasn't surprised, but was quick to note that she had been talking to him last night with a loaded weapon in hand's reach. Ever cautious, no wonder her repertoire is extensive. A rose with thorns, he thought. How appropriate. Though one may argue that a Venus Flytrap would be a more fitting analogy.

* * *

_Ten bullets sail directly into the middle of the target; a perfect shot at the age of six. She doesn't even flinch when the pistol recoils; her eyes were wide, alert, and a self-satisfied smirk graced her lips. It was extremely impressive. She endured the glares of her companions. They were just jealous, she thought. The instructors applaud her excellent feat, whispering that she is ready for the next part of the program. She was extraordinarily gifted; they may have some use of her potential. She gleams with happiness at the opportunity, but Ivan Petrovitch, her surrogate father, frowns, a worried glaze on his eyes._

"_Do your best, Tsarina. We need the money." He said, as a gently hand ran through her curly locks. The little girl nodded solemnly, vowing to do whatever it takes. Ivan needed it for his medicine. He raised her, taught her to protect herself; this was a way to pay off his kindness, a way to recompense her debt._

_They trap her in a room, solid white, no windows, and drape her in similar clothes to match the prison. It was a test to see how much she could undergo and how long __it would take for her to__ break. The entire experience was a complete blank. She remembers the isolation, hearing nothing, the walls closing in on her, feeling completely helpless and trapped. They fed her white rice on a white plate. Whenever she needed to use the bathroom, she would slip a piece of white paper underneath the door. The guards, who wore muffled shoes, would then bring her to a bathroom with white tiles._

_Days turn to weeks, then months. Slowly, as time moves on, her mind itself becomes colorless. The white walls form around her, suffocating every inch of color she had, killing her from the inside. She remembered nothing, not even her name, only the routine that has occupied her days for so long. Eventually, all she did to occupy her time was to stare blankly at the white ceiling. She was parchment ready to be filled._

_Then, one night—or she thinks it was night—she hears screaming coming from the walls. At first she thought it was another hallucination; reality was so difficult to discern these days. But there was one certainty she was aware of: she knows the voice. She recognizes it, though can't remember when. The voice begs, crying out in pain as whatever torture continues. To the little girl, it was the first sound she had heard in so long. It was melodic. Though sickening as it was, she yearned for more._

_The door then unlocks. The guards walk her out, not explaining anything, gesturing her to follow them. She does, and they lead her to a red-lit corridor. No longer was her world white, instead the scarlet hue blinds her, permanently imprinting itself in her eyes. They pass by a room where the screams seem to be coming from. Opening the door, the guards presented a bleeding man wearing white, leaning against the blood-spattered walls._

_She stared, intrigued as the man drags his beaten body towards her. He attempts to speak, but a croak escapes his throat instead. A desperate look crossed his face as his bloodshot eyes widen. Slowly, painfully, he reaches out a trembling hand to her. Fascinated, the little girl simply stares and notes that his nails have been peeled off and that his fingers weren't bending at the right angle._

"_Do you know him?" one of the guards asked._

_The little girl looked at the pathetic man, no recognition whatsoever present in her mind. "No." she answered._

_Seemingly satisfied with her answer, one of the guards gently pushed her on to the end of the corridor. She hears the man utter one last croak as she walks away. "Tsarina…" he said._

_Years later, when Natalia Romanova recalls that memory, she realizes that the bloody, beaten man was none other than Ivan Petrovitch. __  
_

An instinctual warning siren rang, thankfully ripping her away from the dreadful memory. Natasha felt the familiar sense of someone staring at her and continued to feign sleep. The gaze didn't feel hostile, just wondering. She was very aware of it traveling down her form, but she resisted the urge to flinch as it did. Finally, she could not stay silent as it lingered far too long on her exposed thigh.

"It's rude to stare." Natasha quipped.

She slowly opened her eyes to glare at the person responsible. Loki seemed slightly taken aback, eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he quickly regained his composure.

"I apologize if I disturbed you from your slumber."

"Don't bother, I was already awake anyway." Natasha lied. She groggily pushed herself to a sitting position, inwardly cursing the uncomfortable couch for her sore back. She stretched, releasing a satisfied moan after hearing a crack as she arched her back. Then, she turned back to Loki, who had quickly looked away the moment their eyes met, desperately avoiding getting caught staring once again.

Another night of memories; they were becoming strangely frequent now. Normally, half a bottle of vodka could easily do the trick, but since her little houseguest is awake at the moment, the next best thing will have to do. "I need coffee." She announced.

"Coffee? You have it in your home?" He did not recall seeing anything faintly resembling the ebony liquid.

"Yeah, there's a coffee maker in the kitchen."

Natasha groggily stood up, quickly fixed her nightgown, and walked towards the kitchen with Loki on her trail. She demonstrated the art of making coffee, a skill she believed was a necessity in order to survive the manic world outside. The former god curiously watched as she measured the coffee grounds and poured the water, noting the amounts used and where they were placed. Once the coffee was finished brewing, Natasha quickly disposed of the filter before any of the bitter residue seeped into the finished product. She handed him a cup and one for herself.

Loki made a face at the unexpectedly bitter taste of the coffee. Natasha inwardly chuckled at his disgusted expression. "This does not taste like yesterday's coffee."

"That's because you didn't add any sugar yet." She opened the fridge and gave him the sugar container and the creamer, and instructed him the proper way to add them. "Not too much, because then it'll be too sweet."

Loki sipped it once again and seemed pleased with the taste. He has developed a liking to this drink, though he probably wouldn't say it out loud. "You humans have such strange methods."

Natasha ignored his comment as she downed hers in one swig, astonishing Loki since she drank it pure black. Yes, such strange methods indeed, he thought. She didn't seem disturbed by the flavor though, keeping an entirely straight face the whole time. Though it was subtle, she seemed almost perkier after her cup, her eyes brightening ever so slightly. Perhaps now was the best time to voice his troubles. But, first he needed to soften her up.

"Thank you for the cup." He said, sincerity in his voice.

"No problem." Natasha responded, already skeptical.

"I am also grateful for the talk we had last night." He added. "It was very…_enlightening._"

This time, Natasha had no patience for his mind games this early in the morning. She placed her cup on the counter. "What do you want, Loki?"

My, was she blunt today. Then again, the incident at the coffee shop yesterday probably clued her in to his pattern. Regarding Loki, flattery always follows a catch. Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice—not going to happen. If he was thought he was going to throw a fastball on her, he better think again. It might be time for him to switch tactics.

"Agent Romanoff, this may sound strange, especially coming from me, but I need your help." He lowered his head, as though he was ashamed he was even asking assistance from a puny little mortal. How low have you gone, Loki?

Taken aback, Natasha's eyes narrowed. "My help?" Already she was suspicious.

"You are, I believe, the only one who has ever been in my predicament."

His predicament? Natasha scoffed. Last time she checked, she was never bent on world domination, nor was she banished into another realm. "What are you talking about, Loki?"

Loki stared intensely into her eyes, his voice lowering into a murmur. "I know what they did to you in the Black Widow Program. Barton told me. I know about the psychological torture you endured, and how they blocked your memories, making you forget who you are. They had a tight grip on you, Romanoff. Yet, you managed to escape. How?"

Natasha's throat tightened, her breath momentarily stopped. So, Clint did tell him everything. She was wondering when Loki would bring her past up. It was only a matter of time. The way he spoke, it was reminiscent of the time he was imprisoned; at least he was behind a cage back then. "I'm not going to answer that." Though, he probably knew more than he let on, it was still best that she kept whatever secrets she had left to herself.

The former god seemed to have expected her response. "I thought you wouldn't. But, I was hoping to change your mind."

Natasha crossed her arms. Let's see how successful he will be.

Loki hesitated, unaccustomed to speaking the truth; it was far more difficult than lying. But, desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Ever since I arrived over a week ago, I have not been myself. Now I know why." He began seriously. "It was because some other being took over me. This being, Thanos, is a Titan, the most powerful of his kind and the cruelest. He was the one who found me when I had fallen from grace. I now realize that I have been but a puppet in the grand scheme of his. I was under his control the whole time." His fists clenched. "Even now, he still lurks in the recesses of my mind, inactive but still there. I want him out and I was hoping you could help me."

The Agent's eyes widened. Well, that was certainly something she did not expect. He must be lying; there is no way a story that outlandish could possibly be true. Did he actually believe that he leveled New York because he was under mind control? And there was this other person, Thanos. Already a thousand questions flooded her mind. A Titan? What exactly did that mean?

Honestly, of all Loki's lies this was by far the most unbelievable. She was disappointed; he was losing his touch. First, a ridiculous charade, next a truce, all of them she agreed to. But _this, _did he think she was a fool? Just because they had a civil conversation last night didn't mean they were suddenly pals. Perhaps this was another one of his mind games. Perhaps, this was just another attempt to draw out information from her. Well, she has been able to play along so far—maybe it's time to bring in Plan B.

"Alright, I'll help you." She affirmed. "On one condition."

Shocked by her acceptance, Loki's brows furrowed. "And what would that be."

"_Quid pro quo_, Loki. I tell you things, you tell me things." You can discover what your enemy fears by observing the means he uses to frighten you.

* * *

Bonus brownies to anyone who can tell me from which movie the last dialogue came from. I'll give you a hint: it's freaking terrifying. Oh, and the last line ("You...frighten you") is a quote from Eric Hoffer.

So, another part of Natasha's backstory is revealed in this chapter. It's different from her comic book origins, though I did try my best to work with the original; it's partly the reason why this took so long. Sadly though, whoever has actually read Black Widow's origin knows that her backstory is kinda confusing. So, I twisted it, and eventually came up with my own. Yes, I am going to hell for this; I am quite aware of that.

Fun Fact: The white room experience Natasha had is actually a real form of torture called "White Torture". According to wikipedia, "White torture is a type of psychological torture that includes extreme sensory deprivation and isolation. Carrying out this type of torture makes the detainee lose personal identity through long periods of isolation."

Well, this is also the time to tell a little bad news. I have to go on a trip this beginning of July, so I'll be gone from ffnet for a week or so _(again)_. I am not doing this to torture you, although I highly suspect my parents are doing this to torture me. But fear not, I am not abandoning this story. I'll even bring a notebook to write on throughout the trip. So, I'll be scribbling the next chapter down while on the roadtrip. I shall return everyone.

In the meantime, _**REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW.**_ Loki/Natasha feels are on the next chapter, so prepare yourself. And we'll find out what Selvig and Clint are doing about their own little problem.


	8. Losing a Piece

I'm back from the roadtrip. Sarasota is awesome guys; the sunset is to die for. Too bad they didn't have wifi in the beach. And kudos to the majority (which means almost all of you) who guessed Silence of the Lambs last chapter. That one scene with the man-lady and the skin suit—Ugh, traumatizing.

Okay, I will not deny, this chapter has been a big pain in the rear. It was originally suppose to be really long, with over a half of it dedicated to the quid pro quo season. But half way through typing it, I realized one tiny detail I missed: I have no idea how to write a scene that has both the past and present mixed together. So, I was back to the drawing board.

Thankfully, **E. Edwin, **my beta, suggested something that I think is brilliant. I'm gonna go that way. Meanwhile, it's been almost two weeks and since the next chapter is going to be exceptionally long, then why not post this part now. So here, you go.

* * *

Chapter 7: Losing A Piece

"Quid pro quo, Loki. You tell me things, I tell you things."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean, if you want my help, you have to give me something in return." Her voice lowered forebodingly. "An eye for an eye. A past for a past."

In a game of chess, there is a point in the game where a player must sacrifice a piece, often times a strong piece, in order penetrate the opponent's defenses. In most cases, this piece sits in a place where it can both take and be taken at the same time, thus it can either be the victim or the invader. She waves it in front of her opponent, tempting him, mocking him, knowing that if he doesn't take it soon, he will be the one losing a piece. But the opponent hesitates; danger lurks behind that sacrifice. A backup waits behind the surrender, ready for a counterattack. Like having the cavalry hide behind a false white flag.

But, there is a fallacy behind this technique. If the player's sacrifice is a stronger piece than the one being tempted, like say a queen is sacrificed to a pawn, then the tides are turned. So, the real question in this battle of wits is: who is the queen and who is the pawn? Which of player has more to lose?

Loki's shock slowly faded into anger, his face contorting into a look of outrage. The cup was slammed hardly onto the counter. "My past is _none_ of your concern." He growled. It was far too personal, and far too revealing.

"And so is mine, but that's not stopping you."

"This is _my _past. This is no laughing matter and it certainly does _not_ concern you."

"My past doesn't concern you either, but you seem convinced that you're entitled to it."

He chuckled sardonically. "I just told you I am under another being's control—a being with the capability to annihilate your entire planet." He sneered. "I ask you to help me and what do you do? Bargain for my secrets. Do you think this is a game?"

"No, but one can never be too sure with you, Loki." Natasha was calm as ever, explaining it all to him as logically and as simply as possible. "You're a trickster, that's what you do. I want something to fall back on if this turns out to be a fraud. I want a failsafe in case you're lying." She said as she folded her arms.

"But, I am _not_ lying." He said through gritted teeth.

"Says the Patron Saint of Liars. You've been playing this game ever since you got here. Don't deny it." She glared, pointing an accusing finger at him.

Loki's silence answered it all. He _did_ have a plan set to manipulate her, but this new development, this troubling dilemma, put an entirely different twist to his situation. Shield was a nuisance, but Thanos was a far greater evil. And though he would not admit it, he was frightened—frightened beyond belief. Because for once in his life, Loki could predict how this will turn out.

"Are you really going to bargain your planet's safety for my measly tale?" Loki's voice was stern and serious. Yet beneath that layer of roughness, it shook like a leaf. Not out of fear, but out of outrage. He was already desperate enough to ask for help from a measly mortal, yet she pushes him further by demanding he give himself as well.

Once again, he is struck by how quickly the tides had turned. True, she was right to be wary of him. He understood her logic; a part of him even admired her rather devious plan to blackmail him. He still felt exasperated by her stubbornness though. I am telling the truth, is that so difficult to believe? He thought. Yes, it was. If he was in her situation he probably would not even believe himself.

"This isn't a bargain. It's an ultimatum." She said ever so calmly. "Either you take it or leave it."

A slight panic began rising, clogging his throat. If she didn't agree to help him then he alone would have to cut the strings. And although he had confidence in his abilities, against Thanos, even he acknowledged his inferiority. Besides, he couldn't even trust himself in his condition. At any moment he could black out and return to being a blind puppet once again, an event he was not sure he could handle on his own.

What he needed was someone who would test him, judge him, but knew enough to be cautious. He needed someone who had experience, who knew how it felt to be controlled and manipulated unknowingly, and most importantly who was able break that control single-handedly. Of all the people on Earth, there was one person he knew that fit those criteria, and it was coincidence—or fate?—that made her his guardian. Loki hated to admit it, but he needed Natasha Romanoff. Or to be more specific, he needed to know her secret.

But did he need her enough to willingly relinquish his own sordid past? Would he allow himself to be compromised for the sake of his sanity?

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, finally reaching his decision. Odin, he hoped he wouldn't regret this. He saw Natasha's hand flinch towards the gun strapped around her thigh as Loki extended his hand. He held it out in front of him, quietly observing her wary gaze. "Fine." Loki cursed how weak his voice sounded at the moment and forced it back into its strong facade. "You get your deal."

Natasha steel gaze did not waver; her stance still guarded. As she placed her palm on his to seal the deal, Loki gripped it tighter than necessary and roughly pulled her towards him. On instinct, the Shield Agent placed her other palm on his chest to prevent them from colliding, but it did nothing to distance her from him; Loki's firm grip on her hand made sure of that. He lowered his mouth close to her ear, inwardly pleased at how she tensed as he did so. Her cinnamon scent invaded his senses, only then did he notice that this was the closest he'd been to woman in so long. He vehemently resisted the urge to inhale her intoxicating woodsy smell.

"I trust that whatever I wish to divulge will not be repeated outside your home, especially to the ears of a certain one-eyed director." His voice was a silky purr laced with a hidden threat; one that Natasha suspected was nothing more than a bluff. His rapid heartbeat beneath her palm told her everything.

"I will make no such promises." She whispered back, refusing to play into his whims this time. She had enough of playing the agreeable little caretaker. This was her turn to take control. Natasha's nails painfully clawed his chest; their sharp edges sure to leave marks on his skin. Hissing, he gripped her hand with his free one, and twisted her wrist away from him.

She heard Loki growl next to her ear. Apparently, the god did not enjoy blackmail when he was the one being victimized. "For one who believes so stanchly to the idea of second chances, you are a bit lacking in faith."

"I never said I was ever the faithful type." Her voice was rough, but Loki knew, from the look in her eyes, that he had struck a chord.

He forcefully pushed her away, causing her back to hit the edge of the kitchen counter. Groaning, Natasha held on to it to steady her balance. One hand traced the barrel of the gun around her thigh, her eyes never leaving Loki just in case he tries to attack her.

He doesn't. Instead, he simply glares intensely at her, the scowl on his face telling her everything. He had been outsmarted, outwitted once again by the same mortal. His earlier plot to soften her had not worked, and now he realized that any other plot that will follow would most likely be just as futile. Natasha Romanoff thought too much like him, _was _too much like him, for any ordinary plan of his to work. He had severely underestimated her once again, believing she was one to eventually fall to foolish misjudgment. He should have known that all that talk of faith and redemption was nothing more than a bunch of lies, another one of her dastardly schemes to misdirect him.

The memory of Laufey falling into his trap flashed in Loki's mind; the sight of his biological father's shocked expression as Loki blasted him with Odin's spear was both satisfying and disconcerting. In his final moments, Loki swore he saw a flash of recognition on the Frost King's eyes. It was quickly followed by a look of horror as the true identity of his murderer is revealed. Laufey died hearing his own son, a son he thought dead, stridently disown him. In a strange way, Loki now knew how he felt, to be defeated by someone who strangely resembles you in so many ways, yet fights for the opposite side—like being beaten by your own reflection.

He freely glared at Natasha, all pretenses gone. No more would he act agreeable; with this bargain, their short-lived truce has officially expired. Now, it will be nothing more than a fight to see who between them will break first. Which of them will succumb to the nightmares of their past and who will blankly watch the other drown in their horrors?

They stood at a standstill, waiting for the other to make their move. The sound of the wall clock ticking away the seconds reminded them just how much time had passed. Finally, Loki turned away and took a step back.

"I believe we are both in need of some space." He made a disgusted face as he looked pointedly at Natasha. "And one of us desperately needs to bathe." Walking away, Loki flexed the fingers of his hand, discomforted by the tingling sensation that remained after their "handshake".

Natasha stared at his retreating form, inwardly relieved that it had gone better than she expected. She knew which of them had lost the bigger piece in their little game of chess.

* * *

After the Battle in Manhattan, Stark Tower was miraculously still standing, though the top-most portion of it was left totally devastated. At first Tony saw it as another chore that needed cleaning up, but later realized that it was a perfect opportunity to install some more upgrades to the tower. The renovations were just recently finished, and the tower is once again in pristine shape, except for two details. Tony did not rebuild the gigantic STARK title atop the tower. He cleverly left the A alone, amusing himself with the thought of changing its name to "Avengers Tower" instead. Fury was not so keen on that. And lastly, he left the Loki-sized hole on the floor virtually untouched, and had even added a glass case around it and a commemorative plate that said "Here lay Loki, the puny god". It never failed to leave a smile on Tony's face every time he passed by.

After his meeting with Fury, Tony hurriedly returned to Stark Tower before Pepper or any other person noticed his disappearance. Landing atop the tower, he ordered Jarvis to remove his Iron Man suit as quietly as possible. Pepper was a light sleeper and it was only by a miracle that he was able to sneak out in the dead of morning just to fly to the Helicarrier. Gently closing the door behind him, he tiptoed towards the bar to get a cup of coffee. The machine zinged to life and quickly brewed the perfect cup of joe just the way Tony preferred.

After chugging down a freshly brewed cup of coffee, Tony quietly stalked towards the bedroom. Passing by the living room, he caught something moving on the side. Sitting on the sofa, wearing a t-shirt far too big to be hers, sat Pepper Potts, her arms folded and a frown on her pretty face. He froze as she let out a loud cough. Tony cursed under his breath and slowly turned to his beloved girlfriend wearing an innocent smile, like a child getting caught stealing from the cookie jar.

"Pepper…" He said amiably opening his arms to give her a good morning hug. "How's the love of my life this fine sunny morning?"

"Alright, if you don't include the part where I wake up to the sound of my boyfriend blasting off in the middle of the night."

"Um, first, I'm sorry I woke you, and second, I didn't need to 'blast off'—as you so eloquently put it—last night, especially after our earlier…'activities'." He replied with a smirk a wink.

"You know what I meant, Tony." She said sternly, however a faint blush was present on her cheeks.

"Okay, okay. I went to a meeting."

"At three in the morning?"

"It was in China. You know different time zone and such." Smooth, Stark, real smooth.

"Hm, I don't recall scheduling a meeting in China." Pepper's eyes narrowed.

"It was last minute."

"What was it about?"

"Stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Stark Stuff."

"Okay," she shrugged, "Since you're so enthusiastic to go to a meeting half-way around the world this morning—Jarvis, tell Mr. Stark what other meetings he has in store today."

"At 9am, Mr. Stark has an interview set with CNN and BBC which will last for two hours. By eleven he is set to appear at a charity auction in California to raise funds for the families affected by the battle. He must then return to New York for the daily meeting with the Manhattan Clean-Up Commission. At two, he is required to give a speech for the opening of the Battle of Manhattan memorial in Time Square, followed quickly by another press conference. Then finish the day off with a trip to Washington." The ever-helpful Jarvis supplied. Tony groaned at the list of incredibly tiring chores he needed to do. Honestly, he just saved the world over a week ago, doesn't he deserve at least some time off? It's like cleaning up the aftermath of a totally manic party.

"Seems like you've got a lot of work ahead of you, _Boss._" Pepper said with a quick peck in the cheek as she sauntered away from him. "And good morning by the way. I hope you at least avoided giving Fury a stroke this early in the day."

Momentarily stunned, he couldn't help but wonder if there was anything Pepper did not know. Perhaps his snooping quirks have rubbed off on her too much. "And where do you think you're going?" Tony asked.

Her voiced echoed from the kitchen. "Fixing us breakfast. Or would you rather go off to China and order us take-out?"

Tony smiled; yeah, he probably has rubbed off on her too much. Not that it was a bad thing per se. It just meant he had to get used to Pepper sounding more like….well, him. He did understand her concern though. She knows the truth, how the earth was nearly invaded by an alien army, how Ironman and his team (yes, it is _his _team, Tony assured) were deployed to vanquish them, and how Tony saved New York from nuclear devastation by heroically sacrificing himself. Needless to say, Pepper was not happy to hear the last part, but nonetheless she was relieved that he made it. So relieved that she spent the week babying him; no argument whatsoever ensued between them. It was pure bliss. However, there was always free-reign sarcasm.

"Sir, you have a visitor waiting for you this morning." Jarvis's voice informed.

"Hm, who?"

"Lt. Col. James Rhodes. Shall I let him in, Sir?"

"Yeah, sure." What would Rhodey be doing here? Last time Tony hear from him was that he was down in the Middle East settling issues using _his _War Machine suit. Yeah, the jerk still hadn't returned his borrowed armor, and Tony really didn't have the time—or the humility—to plead for it. The colonel seemed to be doing more good than Tony was at the moment, and it also left Rhodey to do the dirty work while he was preoccupied with more pressing matters, like trying to control the conspiracy theorist and UFO watchers and the howling monkeys that are the press.

Rhodes entered, still wearing his well-ironed air force uniform. "You're actually awake at this hour, or is this just a hologram?"

"It's the real deal. No hologram could ever capture this much handsome." Tony scoffed.

The colonel smiled at his friend's ego, no doubt used to it by now. But that smile lasted only for a second before it turned into a frown. Why was everybody frowning at him today? Tony thought.

Rhodes approached him thoughtfully, looking suddenly serious. "I didn't come here for a wakeup call. I came for business."

"That's what everyone seems to be coming to me for these days." Nope, not once has he heard someone say "Thank you for saving our butts, Mr. Stark", nope not at all. He gestured Rhodes to take a seat on the sofa.

Rhodes looked gravely at him, his hands in front of him. "Justin Hammer's gone missing."

Tony'seyes widened, "What? I thought he was in some maximum security prison getting _friendly_ with the convicts."

"He was," The colonel assured, "Last night there was a break in at the prison, a clean break in. So clean that so far no physical evidence was found at the scene. However, two guards were found dead outside the gates, both brutally murdered. But here's the weird part: the video surveillance showed that they were still on patrol throughout the night. They were even the ones that opened Hammer cell. So either they had some faulty security or we've got some invasion of the body snatchers going on."

Tony sat quietly reviewing the situation. What kind of Twilight Zone situation is this? And who in the right mind would want Hammer? The guy was a egomaniac and a nitwit. The body snatcher reference struck a chord in his mind, a very disturbing chord that awoke many even more disturbing possibilities. Of course, he was jumping into conclusions. There was honestly no way that it was _them_, right? He saw the mothership explode right before his eyes, so there's no way…

"What do I have to do with it?"

"Well, aside from the fact that Hammer wants revenge on you, I have a feeling you know more about this than you let on." Rhodes insisted in a suspicious tone.

"What makes you say that?"

"Drop the act, Tony. I know you're hiding something from the press. I'm not buying any of that crap you told the news. Mad man with an experimental weapon? Really? I know a cover-up when I hear one." He abruptly stood from his seat, towering over Tony who sat languidly. "I'm sorry I missed the battle—commute doesn't exactly come easy when you're half-way across the world."

"You had _my_ suit." Which is way past its return deadline by the way.

"I know, but it doesn't exactly travel at the speed of light." Rhodes' tone suddenly changed into something more somber. "I could have been there to help. I should've been there. And maybe there wouldn't have been so much destruction."

Tony stood and gave an awkward, yet comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Hey, no harm no foul. We made it through without you, though back-up would have been nice, but hey, maybe you could share the glory next time." Yeah, the next time a psychopathic demigod comes by with an army you're welcome to join the cavalry. Who knows, you might be the one deflecting a nuclear missile next time. He inwardly scoffed, like _that's_ going to happen soon.

Rhodes nodded at the comforting words. "I just wish you could trust me with the truth." Casting on final meaningful glance, he turned to leave.

His mouth tightened, Tony resisted the urge to speak out. It was not his place to tell the truth, that and Fury would possible kick his ass off the Helicarrier the moment he finds out someone outside of Shield knew the secret. He was already pushing it by telling Pepper. Now, Rhodey, too? He groaned; come on, Stark, learn to keep your mouth shut. Don't tell him. Don't-

"Rhodey!" He blurted. Shut up, Stark, shut up. The colonel slowly turned toward his friend, a curious expression on his face. "What if I told you the truth is harder to believe?"

"I'd bet you fifty dollars that it isn't." He said confidently.

"Fifty dollars and you're 'borrowed' suit and you've got a deal."

"I'll take that bet." Intrigued, Rhodes returned to his seat at the sofa, brows furrowed and awaiting Tony's response.

Taking a deep breath, Tony prepared himself. Fury is going to have his head for this, but what the hell. Tony Stark was never a stickler for rules in the first place. "Okay, so Rhodey, how do you feel about aliens?"

* * *

I swear Hammer going missing is tied to the plot. You can probably guess how.

Next chapter is going to be up soon—like your kind of "soon", not my lame two weeks late "soon". On the bright side the Blackfrost fandom is really active now. I started a fanfic tumblr with my penname the other day and was amazed at the number of people that support the ship. Also, I found out tumblr is a great place to find inspiration.

I know it's short, but still don't hesitate to leave a **_REVIEW_** to tell me your thoughts on the story so far.


	9. A Tale of Two Siblings

Phew, here it is. The extra long chapter I was working on for over 2 weeks. It's dripping with info, flashbacks topped with a bit of angst, but best of all, it's all Loki and Natasha. I hope you guys like it; trust me it was not easy to write. I collapsed the moment I finished typing it. I felt like I sold my soul as recompense for this story.

Thanks to the reviewers who are no doubt the motivation and support that every writer appreciates. You guys are awesome! Especially with how you all share your opinions on the story and characters and even find out observations that I never even thought of. Plus, you all seem to not mind so much that the romance seems to be a bit slow in comparison to other fics. I apologize for that if it bothers anyone.

Thanks to the people to favorited and followed (hm, strange how ffnet is starting to sound like tumblr and twitter now). You all are just as amazing!

Also, special thanks to **E. Edwin, **my beta for editing this uber long chapter and coming up with very helpful advice. Without it, I might have been stuck in writer's block hell.

* * *

Chapter 8: A Tale of Two Siblings

A nice cold shower was all Natasha needed to clear her head. The drizzling water provided a soothing effect that she desperately needed to keep calm. This peace would not last long, she knew. It was still important to be composed especially since she might be divulging her innermost secrets later on. Never show _real _vulnerability in front of the enemy. Lead them on with fake smiles and crocodile tears, but _n__ever _give them something they can use against you. Those were the lessons instilled in her the moment she entered the world of espionage. And she was going to break each and every one of those rules today. She was going to give her enemy the means to perturb her in exchange for his own secrets. This plan seemed so clever in her head, now she was beginning to regret it.

Loki's rather violent reaction proved that she wasn't alone in her anxiety. He too seemed quite attached to his past; at least attached enough to vehemently oppose her proposition. Not only that, but he also seemed readily convinced that he is under someone else's control. Either the man had truly cracked or there was more to this than she supposed. Nonetheless, she still didn't believe that some other being (Thanos, was it?) had been manipulating him the whole time. It was unfathomable, really. Whatever the motive was behind his lies, it was clear to her that it was powerful enough to make him agree to a choice she knew he despised.

She grabbed her bottle of shampoo and lathered it on her hair. Well, it's too late to turn back now. She closed her eyes. At least with the information she'll gather, she'll have more knowledge of how the worlds outside Earth operated. Fury would be extremely interested in this considering his plans to create a map of the cosmos.

Something did disturb her. When he pulled her towards him, she didn't expect to feel so…affected. Perhaps, it was the fact that she felt him discreetly sniff her hair or that she had her hand on his surprisingly cool chest or that the purr he whispered felt so...She shook her head. Whatever it was, she wasn't sure she wanted to feel it again. She washed off the shampoo with cold water to clear her head of the unwanted thoughts.

She stepped out of the shower with her hair dripping wet and wrapped herself in one of her red towels. Going into her bedroom and quickly dressing, she noticed from the sun shining outside her window that it was already nearing noon. With only a cup of coffee for breakfast, she would need nutrition soon and so would her ward. Cooking was never her forte, but she could probably whip up something from what she bought yesterday.

One of her favorites would always be Beef Stroganoff, and not just because it was Russian. She recalled having it as a child, one of the few memories she has, and had also liked it because it was easy to cook. It also seemed appropriate since she was going to talk about her past anyway, so why not have something nostalgic to add more effect.

That was how Loki found her, chopping the mushrooms as the beef cubes cooked on the pot and wearing—of all things—an apron. After storming off, he took some time to calm down, breath, and get his bearings together. His anger took some time to simmer down, but eventually it did after cursing the ears out of Heimdall (whom he hoped was listening), Odin, Thor, Thanos and pretty much everyone in existence that had something to do with his misery. Natasha had faintly heard it through the shower and was slightly shocked by the rather colorful way the man cursed. Honestly, it sounded like Shakespeare wrote a monologue about damning people to hell. She still wished Fury had left her an extra muzzle.

She caught him on her peripheral as he snuck up behind her and casually ignored him. He watched fascinated by the preparation. Still, he hoped that she might chop one or two of her fingers off, and was slightly disappointed at the way her hands moved so surely. The smell of the beef on the stove raised a hunger within him that he had not noticed earlier.

"What concoction are you mixing in your pot, witch?" he leered.

Natasha silently sighed; so the friendly façade was finally gone, eh. Good, it was starting to annoy her a bit. She tossed the mushrooms to the side and continued chopping the onions. "Lunch." She replied stoically.

Loki eyed the ingredients distastefully and sat down on the marble bar counter across the stove. Unfortunately for Natasha, she was barricaded by the high counter around the kitchen, placing Loki in close proximity with her, something she was somewhat uncomfortable with. "When are we going to carry out this 'quid pro quo' you spoke of?"

"While we eat." The sound of the knife continued, not a beat missed, though Natasha's eyes were getting a bit watery thanks to the onion.

Loki, not really in the mood to stay quiet, decided that this would be the perfect time to _bond _with Miss Romanoff. Normally, with a knife in hand, he would be wary of the agent, yet for some reason, he felt particularly spiteful today. He was pleased that he didn't have to censor anything now that his pretend game was over. At last, he could freely share the insults he had been collecting. "You know, this surprisingly suits you, Agent Romanoff. Cooking in the kitchen, acting like a little housewife. You're finally in your proper place." He goaded.

The beat of the knife did not falter.

"Or perhaps you're simply trying to poison me with your cooking. Do they train agents in the culinary arts? I hardly think that you would need to feed a man to kill him. Unless, you want your targets to be stuffed before you devour them. Isn't that right, Black Widow?"

Still, she ignored him, her mouth set in a tight line as she continued chopping the onion. He was trying to provoke her, elicit some kind of response as compensation for his previous outburst. She remembered the first night when he so violently demanded she not touch him after the haircut. This felt like a repeat of that night. After accepting his loss, he comes back with petty gibes. It was a self-defense mechanism, she concluded. She had met many men in her line of work with the same set of emotional bulwarks. When weakness shows, be more cruel; only to prove that he was above such petty sentiments and could easily reinforce himself.

Loki glared contemptuously, disappointed at the lack of response. If he had said the same words to Sif, he would have gotten the beating of his immortal life, yet Agent Romanoff was far too emotionally stagnant to show any sign of annoyance. Instead, he watched at how the agent mixed different ingredients, some of which he recognized such as parsley, and created what seems to be a heavenly smelling beef broth. Then, she carefully placed the broth on top of two plates of cooked noodles. Seemingly satisfied with her work, Natasha took off the apron and gave him one of the plates as well as a fork.

He eyed the strange food with a hint of suspicion. He poked the beef with the fork, half expecting it to move and was disappointed that it didn't. Natasha, a bit insulted, frowned. "It's not poisoned." She stated dryly.

His eyes rose to meet her irritated face and stopped. A smirk stretched his mouth, clearly pleased that she was showing some reaction. "That's very _reassuring _coming from someone like you."

A sense of déjà vu overwhelmed Natasha. Why did it feel like they were starting all over again? Only this time he acted far too…_candid._

"What's gotten into you?" she blurted.

"A demented, sadistic Titan bent on dominating the universe." He said wryly.

Her disbelief was patently clear on her expression.

Oh, he's still using that lie, Natasha thought. If he continues to squawk the same old excuse, then it's going to get old pretty quick, but no matter. Let him spin his web of lies. There is no way she'll get caught in it, she assured.

The apartment didn't have a dining table, mainly because Natasha never had any guests over; except Clint, of course, but he was rarely allowed in. So, they sat at the bar stool with their plates atop the bar counter. Seeing as Loki was hesitant to eat the strange dish, Natasha took the liberty of taking the first bite. It was a bit dry, definitely too much mushrooms, but it was the way she remembered Ivan making it. She closed her eyes and resisted the urge to look back at the old innocent days before the program. It hurt too much knowing how fleeting it was.

Loki saw the strained expression on her face, the distant look in her eyes as she took the first bite. This dish, whatever it was, had some significance to her life and though he still loathed her to the very depths of hell, he was comforted that this bargain would be just as painful for her as it was for him. He took a bite of the pasta, surprised by its mild taste and creamy texture. It couldn't compare to the grand banquets of Asgard, but it certainly wasn't as horrible as he expected.

"How is it?" Natasha asked earnestly.

Loki faked a scowl. "Peasant food." He sneered.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, already regretting cooking the stroganoff. She should have just let him starve.

"Before we begin, I wanted to ask you something first." Loki said off-handedly as he twirled his fork in the pasta.

After shoving a fork-full of food, Natasha swallowed before raising an inquiring brow. "What is it?"

"How were you able to remove my control over Agent Barton?" Loki asked, pretending to look disinterested when he was actually eager for the answer.

"Easy. Cognitive re-calibration. I slammed a pole in his head hard enough to knock him out."

Loki's hand rose to his chin as a contemplative look crossed his face. "I see." He said strangely. Natasha eyed him warily; he was plotting something she could tell.

Breaking from his thoughts, he suddenly turned to her, his sneer once again in place. "So, who starts this quid pro quo season of yours?"

"I will." Gently dropping her fork on the plate, Natasha wiped any remnants of her stroganoff with a napkin.

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You will?"

Yes, she assured more to herself than to him. "I offered this agreement. It's only fit that I begin."

Natasha calmed her breathing. Loki looked fascinated at how she seemed to be separating herself from reality, like she was summoning the memory from her defense barriers; not opening them all the way through of course, but simply tearing a hole, a peephole, into her inner sanctum, into her most private of vaults, into her mind.

_The little girl walked into the room bathed in red light—much like the red she saw on the dying man's shirt. The guard explained that studies had shown that red light stimulated the brain more and encouraged alertness, thus it made sense that girls get use to it while they were still young. The little girl noticed that she liked the red light, it was far better than the white room. She noticed that some of the older girls in the room were sparring in the corner, throwing impressive punches and swinging their legs in almost inhuman ways. It was a dance; one that revolved around dominance and deceit, disguised by powerful flurries and graceful evasions. She watched, fascinated and enthralled by the color and sight, by the beauty that is power and destruction. It took her a while to notice that the red light had other uses too. It hid the blood very well. The guards led her to a section where the younger girls trained. They then introduced her as "Natalia", their new comrade in arms._

_It was there she trained. She could not remember the pain that went with the courses. She recalled feeling it at first, the searing pain that came with the human body being pushed to its limits. But over time, the numbness seeped in. It was almost like being in the white room once again, enveloping her, separating the physical hurt from the rest of her body, adding another layer to her defenses. And just like the numbness, as time wore on, a new set of ideals were being indoctrinated into her young, fertile, mind._

_"You are trained to kill. From now on, your sole duty is to the mission…nothing more, nothing less. To complete a mission is to complete your purpose. You are nothing without it."_

_Natalia understood and understood well, though at first she was hesitant to believe. But as time wore on, just like the numbness, the dogma began to sink in and take root. Perhaps it was the overwhelming environment, perhaps it was __the lingering fear of being thrown back into the white room, but perhaps the most probable reason was the fact that, in all honesty, she thought she was so sure that this was what she was made to be. She had no other memories before the Red Room. She also played with the thought that perhaps she enjoyed the carnage, enjoyed the power that came with defeating an opponent, and enjoyed the sight of a plan falling into place. But those were thoughts she would never admit to herself or to others, no matter how true they seemed to be._

_The mission was her purpose, nothing else. __Conscience and sympathy were a liability; hence she should barricade herself from such sentiments at all costs. She lived for the mission; no more, no less._

_Unsurprisingly, she excelled in training, in espionage and in assassination. Breezing through each course with flying colors, hitting each target with quick and fatal accuracy,__these things__were second nature to her. Soon, she too was performing the same deadly dance she so admired in her youth. Some part of her, a small voice at the back of her head, told her this wasn't something new. She was already trained before she entered the room. By whom though, she does not know, although images of the dying man did flash in her mind. All she was aware of was that she was, as her tutors told her, born to be an assassin—born to be a killer._

_Several years later, she performed her first mission: a hospital fire that killed not only her target, but hundreds of innocents._

Natasha sighed; the training days weren't so bad, at least not compared to what happened later in her life. This was a mild beginning that only showed how the spy was initiated; it did not show how the Black Widow earned her name. But it was enough for her part of the deal.

She raised her head to look at Loki and was surprised to see a dull expression in his eyes as he stared back at her. Seeing her reaction, an irritating smirk then formed on his lips as if he were silently mocking her for her shock. "As interesting as how you're training began, Agent Romanoff. It does not really aid me in my quest against Thanos's mind control. Moreover, Agent Barton has already supplied me with your 'humble beginnings'. I'm not interested in how you came to be. I _need _to know how you got out."

"I can't really tell you how I got _out_, if you don't know how I got _in_ in the first place."

Loki seemed unconvinced of her logic. "Yet, as I said, Agent Barton has already kindly informed me of that portion of your past. What use is this if you only repeat the tales that I already know?" Again, that arrogant smirk settled on his face.

Natasha quickly restrained a violent urge to wring his skinny neck. Did he not know how lucky he is that she's even telling him this stuff? That ungrateful little bastard. Her past was the most safely kept secret she ever had to hide and she was willingly displaying it for him to see. Granted she didn't plan on telling him everything, but that was beside the point; she _never _told anyone everything about herself.

Stepping foot in her apartment, eating the food she cooked, telling him her past, what next? Sleeping in her bed? She scoffed.

But this was an agreement she began and if Natasha was anything she always finished what she started. Realizing that she would have to reveal more than she bargained for; she hoped that it would be worth it in the end. "Fine." She said firmly.

Loki smirked even wider; finally things were going his way. "Then, please do share, Agent Romanoff. I'm dying of curiosity."

Again she took a deep breath, painfully drawing forth a different memory. What she would divulge was something she had never told Clint, or anyone else. As far as she knew, the only people who knew about this were herself and…_her._

_At the age of eleven, after years of training, the program finally declared that Natalia was ready for a real mission. Excited that she would finally fulfill her purpose and make her tutors proud, Natalia accepted the mission whole-heartedly. She was assigned to kill a diplomat and his family and make sure that it appeared as nothing more than an accident._

_It was easy, sneaking into the hospital, after all who would suspect that an eleven year old carried a fully-loaded silent pistol. Finding the room was easy enough, all it took was hacking into the hospital's flimsy database. The hospital's white walls made her uncomfortable though, made her feel like she was once again trapped in that white room._

_I__t was very reassuring when she saw the blood seeping through the white sheets of the hospital bed as she shot the diplomat right in the middle of his forehead. Now all that was left was the family. It was very convenient when the wife entered the room to check on he__r d__ead husband;__it__saved Natalia the time to search for her._

_But t__here was still someone left: their child. She looked and looked, but later realized that there was an easier way to find and kill her. She set the diplomat's room on fire, making sure to arrange it so that it could be mistaken as a gas leak. It spread quickly, and soon all Natalia could do was admire from afar the beauty of her work. The fire enveloped the hospital in flames, beautiful and dazzling flames that lit up the winter night like a cozy fire would to a log cabin._

_The chaos, the magnificent destruction, all her doing. A calming sense of satisfaction entered her as she walked away, heels clicking the side walk in a drumbeat of triumph. She proudly declared her achievement to the program when they called her after._

_She was applauded by her trainers, envied by her peers. But, there was still a nagging feeling within Natalia that bothered her greatly. It was not till two weeks later when a new recruit appeared that she found out what exactly was bothering her._

_They introduced her as "Yelena", but Natalia knew her as the diplomat's daughter, alive and in the flesh. Yet, there was no grief in her eyes. Aren't people supposed to grief after the death of their parents? But, no, there was only a blank stare with a trace of childish fascination as she observed her surroundings._

_The guilt then followed, not because of the fact she murdered her parents—no, but because she had been praised for a failed mission. She confessed to her trainers, and asked for forgiveness for her carelessness. They were not shocked or outraged like she had expected, but looked at her with a sort of gleam in their eyes that she could not identify. They absolved her for her mistake, yet sought a way for her to redeem herself._

"_Mentor the girl." They said. "Treat her as you would treat a sister. Train her to be better than she could possibly imagine."_

"_I will." Natalia said resolutely._

_And from that day on, Natalia Romanova became the teacher and sister of little Yelena. Yelena saw her as a beacon of perfection, an idol that she would strive to be and hopefully surpass one day. Natalia saw her as the one mistake she swore she would never repeat. Leave no room for doubt, she promised herself. On the missions following that, Natalia was more focused and more determined, paving the way for her reputation as the best assassin in Russia, and perhaps even the world._

_Unfortunately for both of the girls, this sisterhood was nothing more than another way for the program to leash its best spy into loyalty. It also added a little bonus since now they have a successor that would exceed her mentor's skills. All according to plan._

Natasha took a deep breath, gripping her fork far harder than necessary causing it to bend a little. It was difficult to expose herself like this; it went against everything she was trained. Was it always like this every time she would tell someone? No, with Clint it was different; it was vague, not so detailed and painful. She gave Clint a nibble of her past, not an entire bite.

Yelena was one of the darker secrets she kept, a ghost of both her mistake and her betrayal that haunted her to this day. Oh, yes, she was still alive—very much so. Though, she has yet to have been caught by Shield. But, Natasha knew she was out there. The same nagging feeling never left. Natasha dreaded the day when their paths would cross once again.

Loki observed the troubled expression on Natasha's face. He knew about the hospital fire, but only knew enough to know that it haunted her, at least that's what Barton had supplied. So, she had a sister, or at least someone she thought of as a sister. Once again, he couldn't help but chuckle at the gruesome parallels that they shared.

"What are you laughing at?" She glared intensely, her hands clenched into fist as she looked just about ready to punch him.

"Oh nothing, just at the irony of it all." He answered a cruel smirk on his lips. A sister, he mused, a sister whose parents she killed and murdered coldheartedly, then adopted like a stray to be trained and polished. Now where has he heard that before? Loki had a feeling that Odin and Natasha would have a lovely time adopting lost and abandoned monsters.

"A murderer creates another murderer. How poetic."

There was one tiny difference though. Natasha said she was _told _to be the sister; that added a different twist. She was nothing more than a tool to her masters. A child blinded by the loyalty and dogmas instilled in her. Now _that _Loki could relate to. Not that he felt any sympathy for her. He hardly felt any sympathy for himself, let alone for an enemy.

In fact, he felt even more spiteful. Had she not seen how manipulated she was? Had she not noticed the way her trainers carried a leash around her? Was she _that _blind? Making her believe those lies, adding false hope, hiding the monstrosity of her existence and actions, and she, the willing victim, believed them whole-heartedly. Idiot, stupid, dim-witted mortal, he inwardly cursed. She groveled at their feet, the feet of the people who made her a monster, and asked for forgiveness. And this was the same woman that had outwitted him not once but twice. What a joke. He absently shoved a fork-full of Stroganoff as he deliberated what he just learned.

Though, after that, he was now even more curious as to what could have changed that pathetic simpleton to this—dare he say it—strong-willed infiltrator.

"It's your turn, Loki."

Apparently, he will just have to wait a bit more to find out.

He swallowed the Stroganoff. "What would you like me to share, Agent Romanoff?" He asked.

Her answer was firm and seemed to have been premeditated. "Tell me about Asgard."

Ah, so she yearned for knowledge outside of Earth. Sadly, he had enough of playing by her rules today. It is his turn after all.

"I think, I'd prefer a different topic. Asgard seems far too…advanced for you simple-minded Midgardians. How about I share the time I managed to convince Thor to dress as a princess. Seems far more thrilling." He smirked.

She frowned, not expecting him to decline. She just shared one of her darkest memories and he offers his pranks as a fair trade. There was nothing fair in this trade. Then, something else flashed into her mind.

"I have an idea. As an even trade, since I talked about my sibling, why don't you talk about yours?"

Immediately, a dark look crossed Loki's face and Natasha knew she had hit the right nerve. If there was something she knew would bother Loki more than Asgard, it was Thor. From the way Thor had vehemently defended Loki, despite the fact that the latter had killed more than eighty people in two days, Natasha knew something happened between them that impacted their relationship. And there was nothing Natasha liked more than getting personal.

"I don't have a sibling." Loki said through gritted teeth.

She tilted her head in a mocking manner; at last she had something against him. "That's right, you're adopted."

He stiffened, and then uttered a low growl of annoyance as he clenched his fists. "I assume Thor did not have enough self-control to keep his thoughts to himself."

"No, actually he only mentioned it once."

"So kind of you to remember it then." He said in a patronizing tone.

"I'm serious, Loki. Quid pro quo, remember? A past for a past. Now, it's your turn."

"And what will happen if you don't deem mine to be an even trade?"

"Then, the deal is off. So, will you tell me about Thor or not?"

"I will make no such promises." Oh, how he loved playing with her. He cleared his throat, dropping his fork on the plate with a clatter as he turned to Natasha. He prepared himself for the pain, for the anger and hate, and most of all, he prepared his mask.

_Even as a child, knowledge was Loki's most defining trait. And though it did help him during their lessons, it did nothing for his training. He fell haphazardly on the ground as yet another victory is given to Thor. Shining in the light of his triumph, Thor stood proudly, looking every bit the Asgardian Prince. Loki, on the other hand, awkwardly stood up as he dusted off the dirt on the back of his tunic, his gangly form lacking the robustness of his brother's. Volstagg and Fandral hollered incessantly on the corners of the training ground, calling out a mixture of cheers and friendly jibes. Hogun shook his head at the antics of his companions and offered to stay quiet._

"_Do you not tire embracing the ground, brother?" Thor mocked._

"_You would not be so haughty if it were not for your hammer." Loki picked up the spear he had dropped a moment earlier._

"_Is that a challenge?" Ever the competitive boy, Thor's ears perked at the sound of another victory._

_Yes, that's it accept the bait. This is it, Loki thought. After all those nights of practice, now is the time to demonstrate my new ability. "No weapons, Thor. Just you and I."_

_Confidant in his victory, Thor dropped Mjolnir and assumed his fighting position with both his hands raised ready to grapple the gangly Loki to the ground. Loki gently placed his spear on the ground and also raised his hands palms up in front of him. And not a moment too soon, Thor charged with a battle cry fit for a raging rhinoceros. His brother stood still, a fleeting smirk on his face as his opponent came closer. The audience looked away for what they all knew would be a very painful contact. Yet, it never happened. They heard a fall and a grunt; assuming it was Loki, they turned to see how much damage Thor has done this time. To their shock, Loki stood virtually unscathed, grinning devilishly over his fallen brother. Confused as ever, they were even more shocked when another Loki appeared right beside them and the doppelganger in the arena disappeared without a trace._

"_Impressed, brother? It is a combination of illusions and teleportation. I spent quite a great amount of time perfecting it. I do hope you're enjoying the affections of the dirt. You seem to be smothering it with kisses." He yelled into the arena, cackling at the sight of his brother face-first on the ground. But, he alone was laughing._

"_There is no honor in trickery."_

_He turned to the glowering expressions of his companions. It was Hogun who spoke as he gave a disapproving glare. "Honor?" Loki scoffed. "What do I need honor for? I won fairly. I used no weapons, only my magic and wit. Thor is to blame for being so naïve as to attempt a full-frontal attack."_

_Hogun did not respond, his frown only deepened. Turning away from Loki, he approached Thor and offered a helping hand. Thor accepted it, looking a bit shameful for his actions._

_Gritting his teeth in fury, Loki stormed off, no doubt searching for a way to vent his anger. His two friends, Fandral and Volstagg, stared after him, concerned yet torn between following him and helping Thor._

"_I was impressed." The larger of the two admitted._

"_Shush, Volstagg."_

_They chose Thor._

_Loki fumed, pacing back and forth inside the gardens. What is their problem? He did no wrong. No one dared go against Thor when he won, and yet when Loki had they all smother him with disgust and shame. It was not his fault that he had no proclivity towards brute strength and combat. It was not his fault that it did not seem natural for him to simply grapple an opponent to the ground. It was not his fault that he was not as charismatic or as flamboyant as his elder brother. It was not his fault that he was not Thor._

_But what if it was his fault? What if it was him that was different? What if he simply wasn't trying hard enough? He halted his pacing, and lowered his head contemplatively. He is the son of Odin, the Allfather. He is a prince of Asgard. Yet, why did it feel like he did not belong__?__His friends hated him, or at least they preferred Thor over him any day. In the end it was always going to turn to Thor. _

_One clear example would be Sif, a maiden whom Loki had a childish crush on. She was strong, independent, confident, far different than the other maidens he had met. In all honesty, he admired her greatly for she was perhaps the first woman he saw who dared go against Thor, especially after he had made a rather chauvinistic remark that sent her blood boiling. Loki thought he had found an ally, someone immune to Thor's charms, but it was not long that Sif began to act differently, most notably after Thor began to support her choice to become a warrior. Thor was blind to a lady's affections, yet Loki could plainly see that Sif felt more than just friendship towards his brother. _

_In a fit of wickedness, or perhaps jealousy, Loki committed perhaps one of his most dastardly pranks in his youth. Sneaking into the young maiden's bedchambers (using his newly perfected invisibility spell), he cut off her beautiful golden locks. Thor would never find her attractive now. It was such a shame that he was found out and was forced to fix the trouble he caused. So, he casted a spell, one that would return Sif's hair, only with a slight difference. Instead of a mane of blonde, he cleverly lied that the spell only grew black hair, a shade that coincidentally matched his own. Sif was not very pleased with that. _

_Loki thought that the people would eventually outgrow Thor's charms. But several millennia would pass and still the retained their awestruck demeanor towards the god, much to the younger brother's dismay. The time came when their father would have to choose the rightful king of Asgard. It was no surprise that it was Thor. __Thor, who has had everything spoon-feed to him since the moment of his birth, who the people look up to in awe and respect, who appears mighty and righteous, disguising the fact that his arrogance left him ignorant of the consequences of his actions. And though, Loki still loved Thor—after all he is his brother—he refused to be as blinded as everyone else.__ Was this the king Asgard deserved? He thought._

_Loki was outraged by the decision though hid his true emotions in a façade of delight and pride. He clapped along with the announcement, gave his brother a hug afterwards and had even declared the day to be Thor's day. Later that night, he would have a different plot in the store._

_Using his more potent spells, Loki hid himself from Heimdall's eyes. It was not an easy task—rather draining in fact—but worth the effort as he snuck into the only place he knew would be stupid enough to exact revenge on Asgard: Jotunheim. He managed to convince a few young Jotun's that treasure awaits within the vaults of Odin, or more specifically the Casket of Ancient Winters, a relic he knew they would be very eager to get their hands on. Loki hid them, just as he hid himself and gave them instructions on how to enter the vault. Of course, he was not actually going to allow them to take the Casket. The point of his plot was to reveal to the Allfather how unfit Thor would be for the throne. Loki loved him no doubt, but he did not allow his love to blind him from the truth: that Thor's arrogance would lead Asgard to ruins._

_He did what he thought was best, honestly. He even led to group to Jotunheim, only to further prove his point. However, he did not expect how far his plans would go wrong. He did not expect the banishment or the throne. Least of all, he never expected nor even wished for the truth._

"Truth? What truth?" Natasha's brows furrowed as she leaned ever so closely toward Loki when he stopped.

His lips tightened to a line, refusing to answer the question. "I think we've had enough for today." He stood up abruptly and began to turn away, his face maintaining his blank mask, though it was obvious that he was desperately trying to sustain it.

"Loki-" Natasha began.

"Was it even?" he asked as he turned his head slightly, though he had his back towards her.

"What?"

"Was the trade even?" Loki repeated with a trace of annoyance and anger in his tone.

She looked confused, but quickly composed herself to a mask of professionalism. "Yes." She answered simply.

"Until tomorrow then. The meal was not satisfying."

He walked away, slamming his room's door behind him, leaving a very confused Natasha in the kitchen to think about what exactly just happened. He had a strange habit of storming off today. But, she recognized the look of a man restraining himself. Loki was no doubt overwhelmed by his story. She picked up the plates and brought them to the dishwasher. She was surprised to see that though Loki claimed the meal was "peasant food" and "not satisfying", it did not stop him from cleaning his plate of stroganoff. God of Liars, indeed.

* * *

Aha, what is going on with Loki? Maybe he's not as cold and unaffected after all, who knows. Like I said in an earlier chapter, I played with Natasha's past a little bit. What's great about comic book characters is that they're so flexible, especially the more complex characters like Natasha. You can play with their background, but with a catch: never forget what makes her a character. I really hope I did that.

Anyway, no Clint in this chapter. Maybe the next? I'll also check out the whole Hammer gone missing problem.

As always, _**REVIEW, REVIE****W,**** REVIEW!**_ Tell me what you thought and might want to see more of.


	10. The Mother and the Nurse

Here it is, at last. I'm improving with the chapter sizes, but not on the updating time. Procrastinator, I know. It's a curse.

No Clint again in this chapter (I'm assuming he isn't missed very much) but Frigga makes an appearance. Not in person but you'll see. Plenty of Natasha and Loki action with a side of angst. And I learned that vulnerable!Loki is harder to write than previously thought, at least not without going a bit OOC. I hope I didn't cross that line though.

Thanks to **E. Edwin**, best beta ever! I much appreciate your edits. You make this story sound a lot less awkward than the drafts.

Thanks to the reviewers, followers, and favorites! I love you all! I just want to give each of you a hug and a cookie. Amazing responses as usual. I'm glad you guys like their pasts. It makes all that grueling brainstorming worth it.

* * *

Chapter 9: The Mother and the Nurse

Loki slammed the door. It rattled on its hinges from the strength of his anger. Loki then grabbed the first object he could reach, a lamp, and hurled it across the room. It collided with a sickening shatter, the remnants falling and leaving glittering pieces of glass on the carpet near the bed. Not caring whether he stepped on the shards or not, Loki paced as a force of habit. Blinded by his fury, he did not bother to feel the faint prickles of glass wounding the soles of his feet. Instead, he roared, cursed, and all the while had his blond-dyed hair locked in a vice grip. Finally he collapsed on his bed, bent over from the painful surge of emotion in his gut.

"I cannot continue on with this." He muttered through gritted teeth.

It was painful, telling his story. He overestimated his indifference. The mere conversation awoke too many deep buried feelings: hatred, scorn, shame, insecurity, betrayal, and sorrow, all so clear as though they were wounds forced open once again. They were sentiments best kept in the dark, especially to someone like Natasha Romanoff, an expert at manipulating people's emotions. He shuddered at the thought that he was now at her mercy, that his tongue, formerly so skilled at deception, could not help him escape this chain. Is this what you are willing to pay for your freedom? Loki asked himself. Did he not just bind himself to another prison, to another bargain he couldn't accomplish? She may be the lesser of two evils, but that doesn't mean he had to enjoy her company. He ran a clawed hand through his hair. What has he brought himself into?

And how sure was he that Agent Romanoff held the solution?

A voice in the back of his mind, menacing and sinister, whispered. "What if she _doesn't_? What will become of you then?"

No, she _has _the answers. Loki buried his head in his hands. She _must_.

Is there another way, perhaps? He sat thoughtfully as he recalled his earlier inquiry. Agent Barton escaped his control through—what had Romanoff called it?—"cognitive re-calibration". Was it possible that he could do the same? Shatter the barrier through physical means? It was worth a try. Besides, if he was successful, then it would leave their deal void, and thankfully he would be free to keep his secrets for himself.

He stood up instantly, renewed with a new purpose, one far more preferable that the first option. Sneaking out of his room, he could hear the sound of plates clanking and water flowing. Loki silently walked towards the bathroom, gently closing the door behind him, careful not to rouse Romanoff from her dishes.

In front of him were the sink and the ever familiar mirror. The same peculiar reflection greeted him, though he was not so disturbed by his appearance now. He gazed into his eyes again—green at the moment—and concentrated. It was like falling—no, more like _drowning_, like sinking into the depths and scouring the corners of his mind for something, _someone. _Finally, he found the parasite and forcibly pulled it to the surface. The blue hue was faint but amidst his green eyes, they were very noticeable. So, it was still there, he cursed.

Closing his eyes, this time he entered the realm of his mind and sought the barrier. It was still there, still as sturdy as before; he traced its outline as though he physically touched its edges with his fingertips. It was a sphere of purple energy, strong energy that seemed to react violently whenever he came into contact with it. It stung the tips of his fingers like a jolt of electricity. Again, Loki was amazed at the sheer power of the barrier; Thanos was mad, but he was no means a naive. The barrier itself floated within the confines of his mind, an impenetrable alien sphere amidst a sea of thoughts.

Or perhaps, not so impenetrable. As he traced the outline, he came upon a crack, not an awfully big one, but enough for some thoughts to seep through. They did not flow like water would from a cracked glass, but seemed to remain torpid, as though they could not escape because they were attached to something from the inside. They were muddled thoughts, cryptic pieces of a broken memory that were useless on their own.

Loki wondered what could have caused such a fracture, and then remembered the severe—and embarrassing—beating he received from Banner's green giant. The thrashing was not enough to knock him unconscious, only enough to leave him frazzled—from shock or shame, he did not know. But, he did know that when he lay on that crevice in the floor, he felt something within him break, a sort of inner rupture that made him flinch. That must have caused the crack.

But, why did the barrier not break entirely? Perhaps it was because Loki himself had not been knocked unconscious. Was that it? It must be for he was an extremely durable god at the time, fit to withstand any beating, unlike Agent Barton's puny mortal form. A form that Loki had at that moment.

It _must _work now then, he concluded. He was mortal, vulnerable and fragile; surely he would succumb to unconsciousness now. He opened his eyes, a new determination within them. Never had he felt more appreciative of his punishment than at that moment.

His reflection appeared to sneer mockingly at him. You won't do it. It's far too risky. What if you injure yourself? Look at you with your '_determination__,' _bah, what foolishness. The sinister blue eyes glistened as it continued to jeer. You won't do it, because you're a weak-willed spawn of a monster. It continued to grin. If your brother was in your place, he would have done it without a thought. Yet, who am I to compare you to the mighty Thor.

Without a second of a thought, Loki slammed his head into the mirror, effectively silencing the jeers. He fell to the floor; a trail of blood from the gash on his forehead. The last thing he saw was his reflection staring back at him from the mirror's broken shards, menacing blue eyes and an ominous grin.

_"Fool." _It said forebodingly.

_It was one of those days again; Loki has once again barricaded himself within the secure shelves of the library, his nose buried deep in one of its ancient books. His mouth silently muttered the text as he read it, his eyes wide with childish fascination. Only one window remained open, the rest were blocked by the scarlet curtains courtesy of the little Asgardian Prince who, with a flick of his wrist, shut all the curtains simultaneously. He hated how too much light distracted him from his reading. The lone window illuminated the dusty contours of the palace library, the old golden shelves, the red furnishings and sofas, and the matching carpet that stretched out in the center of the room. Loki sat right beneath the lone window; a little shadowy figure with his back crouched and tiny hands gripping a book almost twice his size. He was a child wrapped up in his own world._

_"There you are, Loki. What have you been doing here in the dark?"_

_The little prince jumped at the voice, nearly dropping the book in the process. He hissed and buried his head in the book as the curtains were forcefully opened, letting the blocked light enter in a flash of blindness. Rubbing his eyes as they adjusted to the light, Loki focused on the sight of his mother, Frigga, confidently striding into his haven with the grace of a queen. He looked up at her, still sheltering his head from the light beneath the book, wearing it as though it were an over-sized hat._

_"Nothing." He said innocently._

_A skeptical smile, he should have known better than to fool his own mother. "Oh, really? What is this I see?" She picked up the book above his head and read the cover. "'Spells and Enchantments to Render One Invisible', now what could my mischievous son want with a book like this?" With a knowing glint in her eyes, she gently closed the book._

_Loki swallowed nervously under his mother's stare, but answered unhesitatingly. "No mischief, mother. Just reading, I swear."_

_"Do not swear so readily, Loki. An oath is not an easy thing to return." Though she said this with a stern voice, a warm smile still graced her lips. Demonstrating her point, she leaned closer to her son. "After all, words weigh heavy with meaning." And suddenly she disappeared right before him._

_The little prince's eyes widened and immediately his hands reached out. He felt the softness of her face, the fineness of her hair and traced the wide smile before him; he felt them but could not see her. "B-But, how?" He was struck speechless._

_She reappeared before him, glowing with a faint sparkle in her eyes. "I believe you'll find out if you 'read' more of that book." __  
_

_Loki smiled coyly, but that was only momentarily as Frigga added a quick question. "Now, where is that brother of yours?"_

_"Oh," Immediately, he glowered. "He's in the training ground with Lady Sif." He said the last name with such disgust that even Frigga had to raise a brow. Was it not a few weeks earlier that he had enthusiastically told her how the "Fair Sif" had brought Thor down a peg or two? At that time, he had told the tale so excitedly over dinner that Thor had to subtly tip Loki's chair over to quiet him. Frigga had assumed that Loki admired the young maiden greatly. Yet, now he scowled and spat her name like a curse._

_"Thor is teaching her how to become a noble warrior." He added, glaring off into a distance._

_Ah, so that's it. Jealousy can be such a harsh experience, especially when it's your own brother you have to compete against. "Oh, darling—"_

_"It's nothing, mother. Nothing." Loki said abruptly, though he obviously appeared despondent over the issue. "I just wish—I just wish I wasn't so different."_

_"My son," She gently grasped his shoulders. "You are a special child. From the moment I set my eyes on you, I knew you would have difficulty getting along with others, but you must remember that though differences set us apart, there will always be bonds that bind us all together." She gazed at him meaningfully. "Loki, you are…extraordinary. And it may not seem that way now, but your uniqueness will help you gain more than you can ever imagine. Just remember, no matter what may happen, no matter what trials you will go through, you will always be a Prince of Asgard, a son of Odin, and we will always be your family." She ran a hand through his hair. "Now, smile for your mother. That scowl bares a strikingly horrid resemblance to your father's."_

_He perked up instantly. "Does it really?"_

_"Absolutely." She kissed to top of his forehead then gave him a caring hug that only a true mother could give. "Now, continue on with your book. Sorry to disturb. A small word of advice though: don't do anything that will infuriate your brother. You know I don't like it when my sons fight."_

_Loki returned with an impish smirk. "I swear, mother." He returned to his book, the smirk still in place._

_As she left the library, Frigga spared one fleeting look at her little boy. __H__e may not be hers biologicall__y but s__he still felt that Loki was and will always be her son. She raised him from infant to boy, fed him, bathed him, clothed him, comforted him, and loved him. Soon he will be a man; no longer meant to be cuddled and mothered. Soon, he will know the truth of his heritage, and she dreads the day when he finds out about the greatest lie they have kept from him. But till then, she hopes to remind him that they are his family. And that she loves him, always._

_Later that night, she returns to check up on him. Loki sits on his chair, head completely buried underneath pages of the book, though now he was no longer reading; a soft snore told her that he had managed to fall asleep. She smiled as the sight warmed her heart. She approached cautiously, careful not to wake him. She carried his sleeping form and lowered him to a nearby couch, and transfigured a chair into a blanket to drape over him. She brushed the stray locks off his face and kissed his forehead._

_"Sleep well, little prince."_

Loki awoke to the feel of his mother laying a gentle hand on his aching head. Her nimble fingers traced his temple and settled a palm to his forehead. He felt her warmth, one that he hasn't felt in so long, and relaxed as she tried to soothe his coiled nerves. His lids were too heavy, too tired to lift, so instead, he raised a shaky hand and reached out. He felt her face, surprisingly smooth despite her age, and traced a line from her brow to her cheek. She took a sudden breath, but he continued on. He did not know what compelled him to do so, but he said the two words that he carried within him since the day he began devoting the majority of his oaths to lies.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled.

His mother said nothing, though she stiffened underneath his touch. Loki lightly lifted his lids. He expected to find Frigga sitting on his bed side with a mothering smile on her slightly wrinkled face and the glow of the light framing her golden hair, instead, he saw fire; fire from the bright red hair, fire from the bloodied cloth that was on his forehead, fire from the glaring eyes of one Natasha Romanoff. Instantly, the sharp cut of reality clipped away his fantasy.

* * *

The cool tap water ran through her hands. Normally, she would use the dishwasher, but on this occasion she felt like she desperately needed to occupy herself. The quid pro quo was…successful to say the least. Although she'd rather kept her secrets to herself, it was no doubt a fair trade. A sister for a brother, how fitting. It also gave bit insight on Loki's past, which was _very _interesting.

She grabbed a sponge and lathered dishwashing liquid on it. From what she'd learned, Loki was an outsider even as a child. Alienated because of his preference to magic in a society where brute strength reigned supreme. And like any outcast child, he chose to act out through malicious means: pranks, jokes and so forth. But within that shell of his, Natasha knew he only wanted one thing: recognition. He wanted to be treated the same way as his elder brother, to be his equal in people's eyes. Natasha saw his motivation. Sadly, when he acted his plot to bring his brother down a peg, it didn't end very well.

The suds washed away the sauce stains on the plates as she continued to rub the sponge through them. She couldn't sympathize with Loki's jealousy, but had a strange feeling Yelena would. Her sister of sorts had always strived to be better, never through wicked means like Loki had, but by seeking praise and approval from her. It was silly really, how she saw her as an idol of some kind, a vision of perfection that she needed to both worship and thrive for.

_"Starshaya sestra, the Madam told me yesterday that I had the fastest time in the course and that I had the greatest number of kills. Isn't that amazing? Are you proud of me, sestra? That move you taught me the other night was really helpful."_

Natasha's hands tightened on the plate. Too bad Yelena's image of her had to shatter so violently.

_Her eyes darkened as the truth came upon her like a tide. Yelena screamed a curse at her, her hands clenched into fists as her face twisted into a shocking look of fury. "TRAITOR! Sooka!" Tears then brimmed in the corner of her eyes until finally they fell, as her voice shook with indignation. "H-How could you, sestra? Why did you do this? I trusted you."_

Something shattered. She hadn't noticed it, but she was actually staring blankly at the running water for quite some time. She looked down and saw that it wasn't her plate that had shattered, though it nearly well had considering the tight grip she had on its corners. The sound actually came from the bathroom. She turned off the faucet and ran towards it, hands still dripping with soap. Knocking fiercely on the door, she yelled.

"Loki! What've you been doing in there?"

No answer.

She twisted the knob found it unlocked. Damn it, he better not be naked in there. She thrust the door open, and found one gruesome sight. Loki lay sprawled on the floor, his head a mess of blood and shattered glass everywhere.

"What the fu—!"

Reacting immediately, almost mechanically, she grabbed the first aid kit inside the closet across the sink and sank down to Loki's side. There a bloody gash on his forehead, a diagonal line stretching from the middle of his forehead all the way to the farthest end of his right brow. From what she could tell, it wasn't as deep as it looked. She needed something to stop the bleeding, so she grabbed the nearest thing she could find in the first aid, a cloth, and dabbed it on the wound. Applying pressure she grabbed a roll of bandage and covered his wound. That should hold for now.

Natasha managed to literally drag Loki to his bed, and later clean his wound with antiseptic. Sitting on his bedside, her brows furrowed as she reapplied the bandage. What the hell happened to him? Surely, he didn't deliberately slam his head to the mirror? Well, it sure seemed that way. What on earth could have compelled him to do that?

She took out a handkerchief from her pocket and wetted it with water. Wiping the blood on his face, she couldn't help but notice how peaceful he looked unconscious, like a sleeping child. It was the first time she saw him without a sneer, smirk or fake smile. Was this what he looked liked as a child? So innocent and calm, like nothing could ever disturb him. She gently wiped away the red, thankful that her handkerchief shared the same color so that the stain wasn't all that noticeable.

Loki stirred, but still Natasha's hand stayed. Suddenly, his shaky hand reached out towards her. She gasped as his surprisingly warm palm caressed her cheek in an almost—dare she say it—caring way. She resisted the urge to slap his hand away, not that she wasn't used to intimacy. Sincerity however was something she was unaccustomed to, let alone expect from Loki. And the gesture, the tender way he traced her face—she was not mistaken. The former god was half-awake, seemingly stuck between reality and dreams. She had a feeling whoever Loki was thinking of was truly important to him—important enough to love, perhaps.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled.

Natasha stiffened.

Slowly, he lifted his lids, and then momentarily stared up at her in confusion. That confusion slowly faded away to recognition. He recoiled and attempted to sit up immediately, but Natasha was quick to push him back to the bed. He would feel the pain any moment now.

And he did.

He groaned as his headache increased tremendously. Natasha took out the cold pack from the kit and placed it on his head. It should help with the headache a bit, and would lessen the swelling in the area. Loki stared at her unnervingly, some parts bewilderment, another suspicion, yet allowed her to hold the pack to his forehead.

"You can keep your apologizes to yourself. I don't want it."

He seemed confused by her statement, but soon understood. "Good, because it wasn't intended for you."

So, he really was dreaming of someone. "Then, who was it for?" She eyed him curiously.

Loki's lips tightened to a sneer. "None of your concern."

"She must really be special. You must have cared about her a lot."

"Again_, none _of your concern, Agent Romanoff." He snarled.

"Alright." Touchy. Best to drop the subject for now, before he agitates himself too much. Perhaps, she'll revisit it during their next quid pro quo seasons. Loki still stared at her with narrowed eyes, as though expecting her to take advantage of him in his wounded state. She frowned; he should be thankful that she didn't leave him bleeding on her bathroom floor.

"Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Slam your head to the mirror like a madman." She said, remarkably deadpan.

"I…" His actions from earlier flashed before him. He took a wary glance at her then looked away. He appeared conflicted, anxious, inwardly debating with himself. After a moment of silence, he came to a decision. Natasha watched in fascination as he tensed, preparing himself for something. Lowering his head, he shakily sighed, biting his lip. "I thought I could drive him out. I _needed _to drive him out."

"What do you mean?"

"Odin, Thanos—I've had enough of people trying to control me, lie to me, tell me who I am. And if working with you, or self-harming myself are the only ways out, then I'd gladly endure the pain. I'm tired of being a stolen relic." He looked up at her meaningfully, compelling her to believe him, to trust him just this once. He had never wanted someone to believe him more than at that moment.

Natasha gazed down at the range of emotions on his face, so…unguarded. It bothered her. Loki was never unguarded; he must have something up his sleeve, he must. Yet, the same tone of sincerity as before. It seemed like he was truly convinced that he was under some kind of mind control.

_"I've had enough of people trying to control me, lie to me, tell me who I am."_

_"I've had enough of being the program's little pet! I'm not theirs to play with anymore."_

Her hands tightened on the ice pack. Check yourself, Natasha; don't mistake this for something else. Nevertheless, the first stirrings of doubt circled her. When she learned of the Red Room's true purpose, what had she done? Had she not done things that bordered on insanity just to rid herself of them? Natasha, don't be a fool. But, why would someone like Loki, a pathological egoist, ever harm himself? Psychologically, it didn't make any sense. Even he wouldn't go through those extremes simply to build up his farce. Besides, no one could fake that much desperation, not even the God of Liars himself.

Then there was the second option: Was it possible that he was actually telling the truth all this time?

Loki swallowed nervously. Please let her believe him. Romanoff was skeptical, he knew. He couldn't blame her. She was right to be wary, and to be honest, he preferred her this way. It meant that she wasn't disillusioned by his mortal state. He was still a threat, or more precisely there's still a threat inside him. But, her eyes never left his. Her blue orbs were intruding, penetrating deep within him, searching for the truth. And hesitatingly, he let her in for once.

Believe me, please. It didn't work. He's still _in _me. I _saw _him this time.

"Alright." She said cryptically and stood up. It lasted only a moment, however from the way she looked at him, he could tell she doubted her preconceived opinions of him. She wasn't thoroughly convinced but it was enough…for now. A single seed of doubt can grow to something much more. All he needed to do was wait.

After she left, Loki lifted himself to sit on the bed. His head felt like it just received a mighty beating from Mjolnir. In some way it was far more painful than the beating he had from the green beast. Groaning, he held his aching head in his hands, bent over as he took deep breaths. Amazingly, through all the pain, he had never felt so clear headed.

Perhaps, it was the confusing yet comforting flashback of his mother, which was the only memory that managed to slip through the barrier. Now, why would Thanos want something like that hidden? It wasn't of any use, hardly even informative, only that it contained some measure of sentimentality, but other than that it wasn't worth the trouble. Still, it was nice to see her again, even if it was just a memory. Frigga was the only one that comforted him after the reveal of his heritage.

_"He kept the truth from you, so that you would never feel different. You are our son, Loki. And we your family."_

Another burst of pain. Loki flinched and leaned on the headboard. Sentimentality, curse it. It was hard enough keeping his emotions in check in front of Romanoff.

The moment he saw her above him, eyes wide, face incredibly closer than expected, his palm on her cheek, he noticed something; a faint stirring in his gut, the same detested sentiment that has plagued him for some time. He has a name for it, or at least he believes he does, but refuses to voice it out loud. It was a product of his depravity, of his prison. It wasn't real, that was what he was telling himself. It _wasn't _real.

It was then that Loki noticed the first aid kit sprawled on the floor, and the bloody red handkerchief that lay at the foot of the bed. She had tended his wounds. He picked up the handkerchief. Her scent was still on it, a faint cinnamon like smell. He recognized the red stain on it as blood, his blood. It blended well with the cloth, hiding in its hues. Red on red.

* * *

I feel accomplished now. The sexual frustration has risen up a notch, now that Loki has admitted his-ahem-"detested" sentiment and Natasha is starting to believe the mind control "excuse".

I hope you guys catch my desperate attempt at symbolism. Loki's mind control is explored a bit more here than in previous chapters. Also, I added a bit more hints as to what Thanos' big plan is. Kudos if you manage to find them and deduce a theory. I'm curious to what you guys think Thanos is doing.

It's August already guys, and that can only mean one thing: school. There's still a couple summer projects I have to finish, but not to worry, I'll still update as soon as I can. It helps that my I have to write a essay on Crime and Punishment; it really helps with the Loki/Raskolnikov parallels. Plus, my tumblr is updated every day, and I've decided to write a couple of drabbles there to keep the creative juices flowing.

Anywho...as always guys **_REVIEW, REVIEW,__ REVIEW._**


	11. Seeing is Believing

I'm back. Sorry for the long delay. I was struck by a deadly virus called writersblocktitis, and since school is starting, I had to double up with the summer projects that are due soon. For short, it's been a bad few weeks for my fanfic. And yes, you may hate me for that. I deserve it.

Finally, we're getting some traction with this chapter for Loki, Clint and even Tony. I had trouble with Loki's justification since I'm new to the whole romance thing without making it a bit OOC. God, I hope I didn't make him OOC. I would be breaking one of my cardinal writing rules if that were the case.

Thanks to all the folks who reviewed, followed and faved last chapter. You all are so awesome.

Thanks to **E. Edwin** for the amazing advice and edits. Without it I would have been stuck in writer's hell.

Hope you guys enjoy this one.

* * *

Chapter 10: Seeing is Believing

It surprised Clint how much a place could change in one night. Last night's blizzard was bizarre to say the least, unusual for early spring in Alaska. According to Selvig, it was completely unprecedented and had greatly hindered their communication equipment. So Barton, being the skilled acrobat that he is, was ordered to "assist" one of the engineers with the repairs.

The communications tower was the far end of the compound, steel structure bristling with satellite dishes. It stood at a great height, no elevator, no stairs, just a flimsy ladder. Thankfully, the weather had calmed, showing a different side of Alaska than what Clint had witnessed the other day. It was still freezing, no doubt about that, but the snow wasn't as obtrusive as before. It was amazing how only a few coats of slush were left; some bits of green had begun to sprout from the ground as well. All in all, it wasn't that bad.

Clint gazed up at the intimidating structure in front of him. "You want me to climb that?" he asked skeptically.

The engineer—his ID said 'Jones' in large black script—nodded and gave him a sympathetic look. "Sorry, Agent Barton. Orders are orders. You're the only one here with acrobatic experience. Besides, there's no way in hell that I'm climbing that thing. Looks like it's about to collapse at any minute." He tossed him a headphone. "I'll be giving you instructions from down here. Good Luck."

Clint sighed; he wasn't paid enough for this. He gazed up the tower for one last time before he approached the ladder. Last night's storm had left its mark. He carefully placed one foot on it and the metal creaked under the pressure. Damn it, this was going to be dangerous. He hoisted himself up, his gloved hands gripping tightly on the railings as he went further and further off the ground.

"Yeah, keep going, Barton. Just remember, don't look down." The engineer's voice buzzed through the headphone.

Keep going, Clint scowled. You're not the one freezing his ass off. Clint, out of spite, looked down. Eight storeys high, the chilly breeze slapping him on the face, and not a harness nor cord attached to him, yet he didn't feel any fear. He never felt more alive.

The marksman arrived at the tip of the tower. "What now?" he asked Jones.

"Okay on your far left, next to one of the dishes, there's supposed to be an antenna." Clint spotted the object poking out between two dishes. "Okay, I need you to climb over there and pluck it out, including the mounting bracket."

"Pluck it out? You sent me here to take out an antenna?" He said outraged. He was an assassin, not a mechanic.

"The removal of existing antennas that are no longer needed is required to minimize loads on towers during storm conditions. We can't let this tower fall in case another storm comes back. Sorry, Hawkeye. It's just a precaution."

Clint grumbled some obscure curses aimed at the engineer as he stood precariously on the thin steel. It was nice to know that he didn't outgrow the sense of balance he had honed during his years in the circus. Training made his nerves immune to the instinctual fear of heights; the heavy feeling someone gets when they look down was something he no longer experienced. And on top an eight-story frozen tower, Clint couldn't be more grateful of that gift. It did make a bit sense as to why he was assigned to be the engineer's little helper today, he reluctantly admitted. Still, he wasn't some man spider that could climb skyscrapers and stuff, and it didn't help that he was a bit irritable and drowsy from the lack of sleep. He still needed to concentrate; one false move and Jones would have to scrape him off the ice

He crossed the thin steel beam as though he were walking on a tightrope, his arms raised at his sides and careful with his balance. The antenna was right in front of him now. He sat down on the beam, his legs dangling at the end, and pulled out a wrench from his back holster. Carefully, he unscrewed the mounting bracket and pulled out the antenna. As he held the antenna in his hands, a sudden burst of wind came causing the marksman to grip the steel railings, accidentally dropping the antenna. Clint watched it fall and land a few meters away from the engineer. He was pretty sure that it was in pieces right now.

"Oops." He muttered. "Hey, Jones."

"Yeah."

"Did you need the antenna for something important?"

"No. Just for storage. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. You might want to take a couple steps forward."

Clint saw the engineer find the fallen antenna, but something at a distance caught his attention.

"This is coming out of your paycheck, Barton."

By now, he wasn't even listening. The base stretched several yards, and was home to a fair number of laboratories disguised as warehouses and a couple of barracks that housed most of its inhabitants. Yet, there was one thing that stood out, something that was quite out of place in a highly militarized area. A small wooden shack stood a couple of meters away from the edge of the base. And Clint highly doubted it was an outhouse.

Suddenly, an eruption of pain surged through his head. Clint, momentarily stunned, clutched his head and tightly held the railing. It was the pin prick of needles, like being slammed repeatedly by a double-decker bus. It was ripping him apart, splitting his skull, making him twitch uncontrollably. The grip he had on the steel slipped as the pain grew even more intolerable. The wind grew and the marksman lost his footing and tipped over.

As quickly as the pain came, it disappeared and Clint caught the horizontal steel bar with one hand before he could plummet to his death. Gasping short breaths, he dangled perilously, still stunned as the aftershocks of the pain buzzed in his head.

"Barton! You alright up there?" Jones' voice shouted through his headphone.

Clint swung his weight; his other hand gripped the bar. Together with both hands, he raised himself up and sat unsteadily on the steel. "Y-Yeah, I'm fine." He said shakily to Jones.

What the hell was that?

* * *

After thrusting the remainder of the dishes into the dishwasher—an act she wished she had done sooner—Natasha lay down on the sofa, eyes staring at the ceiling as she contemplated. Loki was and still is a liar, she said to herself. But why didn't it seem like it? What could drive someone to the point of self-harm?

For Natasha, there was only one thing that could drive her to that point, and if she and Loki were indeed as similar as he claimed, then it made sense. She remembered a lesson during her Red Room days. The voice of her Madam echoed in the back of her head, so clear that it felt like it was only yesterday she heard her voice.

For a master manipulator, to lose control of a situation is disastrous but not hopeless; one simply needed to adapt. But, to lose control of one's self, to be overpowered by a different will, to be _compromised, _now that is a nightmare. A manipulator's worst fear is to be manipulated himself. As silly as that sounded, it's true. If Loki is indeed what he insists he is, then it made perfect sense why he would resort to such drastic measures.

Yet she was still skeptical. This was Loki, God of Mischief and Chaos, the Patron Saint of Liars and Tricksters. This is the man who leveled Midtown Manhattan in a single afternoon. This is a man who would gladly stomp on her fingers if she were dangling off a cliff.

After their quid pro quo season, Natasha had learned that there was more to the egoist than she assumed. This was also the boy whose inferiority issues plagued his childhood, whose only recluse was himself, who has lived in the shadow of his elder brother throughout his life, coming only second-best and second-loved. This was a lost child. And though that sympathetic light was easily overshadowed by the more cruel dealings of his current actions, it could not be pushed aside during her evaluation.

Natasha needed that part of him so she can paint a rounder picture of his character. The dark and light to make the whole. Now, all she needed were the details that connected them, the transition and transformation from boy to man, from lost child to villain. And without the other half of Loki's story, the "truth" as he had called it, she was left to exit a labyrinth without a map.

But the question still remained: Could she trust what he said?

_"For one who believes so stanchly in the idea of second chances, you are a bit lacking in faith."_

She bit her lip. Is she? The same question all over again. You would think that after being saved by Barton, she'd be more believing of the brighter side of life. Natasha, the skeptic, trained to lie and deceive, never to believe—at least not without concrete facts to back it up. But, now there were no facts, no evidence, only the word and actions of a pathological liar.

Could she ever believe so blindly?

_"Nothing is completely hopeless."_

Damn it. She stood up from the couch and opened one of the kitchen cabinets. Pulling out an unopened bottle of vodka, she returned to the couch and proceeded to clear her mind and numb her emotions.

_"Do you have faith, Agent Romanoff?"_

* * *

The two guards were there alright, but not for long. The first guard noticed something at a distance, and walked towards it. He goes off camera and it is apparent that something has happened since his partner quickly runs after him, his gun at the ready. Both guards are now off camera and judging from the second guard's expression there was obviously a struggle, and he attempted to assist his partner. And succeeded apparently since several minutes later, both guards returned to their posts.

However, they no longer stood to guard the prisoner. One of them pulled out a key and unlocked the prison. Both then enter and seemingly carry the arguing Hammer out with one hand on each arm. Dragging him off, they all go off camera and never return.

Tony watched the surveillance with fascination and mild suspicion. It was definitely peculiar, and he understood why Rhodey was so troubled by this. It made absolutely no sense at all. One moment they were regular security guards on patrol and the next they go over and release the bastard. Something didn't smell right.

"Any luck with the surveillance?" Pepper came out with a tray of waffles and a cup of coffee.

Tony gave her a peck on the cheek as thanks and took the coffee. "Nope, other than I've deduced these are probably the worst prison guards in the planet. Great coffee by the way." He took a sip and watched as Pepper raised a brow.

"Rhodey's not going to be happy."

"I think I've temporarily broken his brain at the moment, so I take it he won't be coming back for a while."

Tony smirked slightly as he sipped his coffee. He took great pleasure in showing his best friend the footage he took from his suit during the invasion. The sight of Rhodey's face was definitely worth Fury's wrath.

At first he thought it was a movie with heavy and very realistic special effects, a sort of cruel joke his friend had pulled on him. But eventually, with the footage of Tony's sacrifice and the sudden blankness of the screen, the colonel could no longer convince himself that this was just some cheesy Hollywood special effect. He stared at Tony, mouth gaping and speechless.

"Did that just really happen?"

"Yup." Tony answered simply.

"And the aliens?"

"All real."

"But what about Captain Ameri-"

"Found him in an iceberg, frozen like a capsicle. Oh, and he's not really as stupid as he looks, though he does sound like it."

Rhodey sat, wide eyes staring off into the distance, trying to process this new information. Tony placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. He understood how overwhelming this must be. The colonel just got bombarded with the fact that: aliens are real and did try to take over the earth, his best friend is currently in a super secret team with a soldier declared dead seventy years ago, a green gamma monster, a Norse god, and two deadly assassins, and Manhattan would have been a nuclear wasteland were it not for said friend heroically sacrificing himself and nearly dying in the process. Oh, and they all had shawarma after.

Tony then gently pushed Rhodey out the door, telling him to get some rest and think about what he just witnessed. He also added that no one else must know about this. The colonel didn't really answer back, but Tony thought he saw him nod a bit, and that was enough for him.

"Did he take it better than I did?" Pepper asked.

"In a way. Less hysterical crying and slapping, more fish out of water."

Pepper playfully slapped him on the arm. Tony pretended to be hurt but smiled none the less.

"Hey, I was worried for you, jerk. Can you blame your girl—" She stopped and looked up at him warily.

Tony's brows furrowed. "You can say it you know." He said as he held her hand.

"I know but it still sounds—"

"Strange, I know. But, it's the truth and nearly losing my life has made me realize how delicate everything is. So, I want you to say it. Loud and proud."

Pepper smiled. "I am Tony Stark's girlfriend." She said, her voice strong and resolute.

He leaned it closer, his voice lowering to a whisper as he wrapped his arms around her. "And I am under the ownership of one Virginia Pepper Potts. Trademark and copyrighted. Do not distribute illegally."

She chuckled as she leaned in to kiss him.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir. But Professor Selvig has just left you a message insisting that you call him back immediately. He says it's an urgent matter." Jarvis notified helpfully.

Tony groaned, his head leaning back as if to glare at the omnipresent voice. "Now? Really?" he said through gritted teeth, clearly annoyed.

"Yes, sir." Sadly, machines have a certain lack of thoughtfulness.

Pepper leaned in and gave Tony a quick peck, silently laughing at the incensed expression on his face. "Now, Mr. Stark, I wouldn't want to keep you away from your work. You already canceled the rest of your meetings today, might as well handle Selvig. Meanwhile, I have to finish explaining to each and every one of the people you've stood up why the infamous Iron Man wouldn't answer their calls. I'll see you tonight."

Tony smiled as she walked away. Two weeks ago, he wouldn't dare label what he and Pepper have. As much as he liked titles, he had ambiguous feelings of the role. Not about Pepper though, it was more like he had doubts about himself, if he truly could truly trust himself not to "self-destruct" again.

Things have changed, a lot. Who knew falling from space was all it took to change things?

He turned back to Jarvis. Now, on the not so thrilling part of change.

* * *

Loki awoke to the sound of the door opening. It opened with a creek; the hallway lights entered the dark caverns of his room, blinding him for a moment. A silhouette stood still, framed by the lights as she approached the bed. He must be going mad for he swore she seemed to walk too…suggestive than deemed appropriate. Long legs—toned yet not overtly muscular—took lithe steps, almost appeared to strut towards him in a sensual manner, like a cat stalking its prey. His eyes trailed her body, the sway of her hips, the flimsy nightgown that revealed generous amounts of skin.

She sat on the bed and pushed him down, causing Loki to wonder how close she had gotten in such a short amount of time. He lay, eyes bulging wide as the assassin straddled his hips, her hands still held him firmly down.

"Agent Romanoff, what-"

She hushed him with a finger to his lips. "I've come to show you exactly what is _real."_She said. Natasha shifted above him, and he gritted his teeth at the friction it caused. No, he would not make a sound, would never admit to feel pleasure, never voice out his depravity. Her fingers teasingly trailed from his lips to his chest. Loki felt it then, the temptation to touch, to feel, overcoming him, making him notice how warm the room had suddenly gotten.

Suddenly, she smiled—_actually _smiled—at him. And it was only then that Loki knew this was wrong. The smile was fake, painfully so, and slowly it shifted to a familiar ominous grin, one that he's seen before for only a split second. He pushed her away, his hands on her shoulders, yet she would not bulge. His brows furrowed; even as a mortal, Loki doubted he was _that _weak.

"What's wrong, godling? Not the fantasy you planned for?" Her voice, hissing like a viper, said sinisterly. Her eyes turned an unnatural shade of blue.

Her face shifted, gruesomely molding itself like clay. Her hair lengthened, turning to a shade of red that seemed to glow like a halo of fire in the dark. Her nightgown shifted, glowed a bright blue before fading back into a new ensemble: a dress, a mixture of green and gold, clearly his colors.

"Well, Loki, do you prefer this then?" She said patronizingly as she leaned in ever so closer, her breath caressing his face. He stiffened as her hands clawed his chest. "You think you can get rid of me so easily. I apologize, godling, but I'm afraid I've become quite at home in your mind. And what a lovely mind it is. Would you like me to tell you what dark fantasies you've been hiding…or would you like me to show you instead?"

Loki swallowed. This wasn't Romanoff, this was the parasite. He struggled, attempting to bring up his foot to kick it, but the beast held firm, trapping his legs between its own. It then pinned his arms above him, clearly stronger than what he assumed any mortal could ever be. Seeing his futile attempts underneath her, the parasite's lips curved, revealing a pair of canines that are without a doubt _not _human.

"They say that the darkest aspect of a person is his truest self. Let's test that theory shall we?"

"_Loki."_

_"Loki."_

_"Loki!"_

Loki awoke to the sound of Natasha yelling. He opened his eyes and saw her above him, and he roughly pushed her away. He bolted up and gasped, suddenly there didn't seem to be enough air. Lowering his head, his eyes widened with panic as he gripped the sheets for dear life.

He flinched as a hand fell on his shoulder and her voice, no longer hissing, instead calmed him slightly. "Take deep breaths. Calm down. Just breathe."

And slowly, the air came back and he was breathing again. He looked up, and saw her sitting at his bedside, her eyes wide but unfocused. Or was it his eyes, he really couldn't tell.

"W-What are you doing here?" were the only words he managed to gasp out.

"I heard you yelling in your sleep and found you having a nightmare." She said.

"A nightmare." He doubted that it was an ordinary nightmare. Flashes of it replayed in his mind, and the parasite's grin made him inwardly shudder.

He was now acutely aware of Natasha's proximity.

Shoving her hand off his shoulder, he turned away from her, scowling. "I don't need your help." He tried to stand up, but he only succeeded in stumbling forward as his legs gave out beneath him. Luckily, Agent Romanoff was quick to catch him before he fell.

"That's not what you said earlier." She countered. She helped him down to the bed, and he obliged to her surprisingly gentle touch, too tired to protest.

Loki's scowl deepened as he leaned his back against the headboard. The headache was but a dull throb in his frontal lobe, not as painful as before, but accompanied by the encounter with the parasite, Loki doubted he would be getting any sleep tonight.

The parasite had more tricks up its sleeve that he had assumed. Loki feared that by releasing a memory, he must have triggered a self-defense mechanism of sorts. He no longer wondered why it took the form of Agent Romanoff. Loki knew why, or at least he had his suspicions, though he vehemently disliked the reason. Still, he could no longer deny it. Unlike what the parasite insisted, the reason—whatever _it_was—wasn't a real. It just wasn't and he refused to think otherwise. He still believed that it was, in some way, the parasite's fault.

"I want to talk to you about something." She suddenly said. She stood up and crossed over to the other side of the room. Facing away from him, she gazed outside the window to the streets below. The streetlights began to light up, and she watched as the people headed home from work.

He couldn't read her expression with her back to him. And her voice was as even and calm as ever, as though she was purposely trying to hide her emotions from him. It made him a bit anxious.

"And what would that be?" He asked, mimicking the same even tone.

She still didn't turn to him, though he could tell she was preparing herself for something. "Whatever you're going through, with the mind control and puppet strings, with the whole 'I need to get out of this' act. Tell me honestly—no pretense, no entendres, no masks, no mind games—are you lying?"

She finally turned to him, and Loki flinched at the intensity of her eyes. It was as though she were boring holes into him. He could see how earnest she was.

No mind games, that was their first agreement, and he was the first to break it. He lived on mind games; felt delight in the way his cons and plots messed with his victims. It was expected of him to act such a way; it was his nature after all. Now, ever since his lodging with Romanoff, he's never had to tell so many truths in such a short amount of time. Was it painful? Yes. Was it needed? Absolutely.

"No, what I told you is the truth. Thanos's parasite has manipulated my mind. I know you don't believe me, and realize that there is nothing I will do to ever convince you otherwise. Please, if not for me, for your planet. Take this seriously. Be cautious, because Agent Romanoff, you may think that my wrath is the most destructive. But, what I have done is nothing compared to what Thanos has in store for your kind."

Loki said this as truthfully and as convincing as he could possibly make. He did not break eye contact with her, and watched, fascinated, at how her eyes, unfocused yet unreadable, stared at him. He knew she was searching for any signs that he was lying. He also noticed the small flecks of hazel in her blue eyes and the way she licked her lips as she contemplated his response.

She approached him, slowly. Loki leaned back as she sat on his bedside yet again. All the while, her eyes never left his. Flashes of his dream replayed at the back of his mind, and now he could wonder how he could have ever mistaken the parasite as the real Romanoff. There was an aura around her, commanding and compelling. Her eyes were not hooded by lust and hunger, but were impenetrable and hypnotizing. Like a vault, one he needed to break into.

She did not lean into him, and tempt him like the marks in her missions. Nor did she even try to go along with his plans. No, she played his game. Played chess with the master Trickster and managed to win battles. Yet, he couldn't ignore the fact that she had also helped to heal him. Him, a prisoner and a criminal. She truly was an enigma.

"Fine, I believe you."

More so than he expected.

Loki sat up straight. "You do?" He said disbelievingly.

She nodded slowly, looking like she wasn't believing it herself. Lifting her head, she eyed the wound on his forehead. "Let me check your bandage." Before he could protest, her fingers already trailed the outline of the bandage. He recoiled at first, and then her touch slowly felt like something else.

It felt the same way when he first woke up and he had mistaken her for his mother. Her fingers were warm, and her calloused hands felt smoother than he anticipated. It elicited from him a strange sensation, something that he had felt the first time Natasha had touched him during his haircut. Loki was aware that this wasn't the parasite's doing. No, he knew the parasite's presence; it was suffocating, and disgusting, like a slimy hand caressing his face. This was different. This made him feel…lighter.

And then the realization hit him like Thor's Mjolnir.

She redressed his bandage. And it was quiet the whole time. He didn't dare speak and hardly breathed when she was close, for fear of drowning in her scent again. Yet, she was inches away from him, touching him, looking so frustratingly stoic the whole time like bandaging an enemy was such a normal task for her.

When she left, his heart was still hammering, though this time not in fear.

Loki could no longer deny it, though he did congratulate himself for restraining it for so long. It took an encounter with the parasite for him to finally realize the difference between real and not real. He felt frustrated. He didn't want this. He just didn't. Why her? He wanted to smother it, to choke it back to his subconscious, lock it away so that it will never again rise. But unfortunately this was involuntary, one of the few emotions he just couldn't control. He wanted to blame her, blame the apartment, her silly little nurse act, just blame everything. But he couldn't, because he was tired of lying to himself.

Loki knew attraction when he felt it. It just took him a while to push through the denial phase.

* * *

Barton walked over to the wooden cabin. Careful as ever, he looked behind him to check if he was followed as well as above him to see if there were any cameras. It was very strange for Clint to even be outside, let alone here in the middle of the night. But he was a man on a mission. And that was to see why this cabin seemed to trigger an immense warning signal at the back of his head. The intense headache he experienced might have supported his suspicions.

It was dull, just a pile of wood—and not even the sturdy kind—were haplessly crafted together to make this makeshift shack, which was precisely why there was definitely something fishy going on around here. Nothing was ever unassuming in Shield unless they were trying to hide something. Years in the agency taught him a few tricks about the inner workings of Fury's mind and one of the first things he learned as a new recruit was that nothing is ever as it seemed. On the outside, it doesn't really look at all mysterious, but Clint was skeptical. He had a sixth sense for these things.

Opening the cabin's door, Clint didn't expect to find his suspicions mistaken.

There was nothing there. Literally, nothing. A pile of wood shavings, a couple of cobwebs in the corners and the smell of wet wood were all he could find.

No, there had to be something here, he stared disbelievingly. Clint lowered his head and chuckled sardonically. He was being paranoid. Really, he came all the way here just to see what the inside of a dingy cabin looked like. Way to go master assassin. Perhaps, the insomnia has finally got to him. Perhaps-

Something caught his eye: a latch on the cabin door. Now, that doesn't sound so unusual, but unless someone meant to lock themselves inside the cabin, there was no reason a lock should even be there in the first place.

Clint closed the door behind him and inspected the lock. It was a standard latch, ones that you would typically find in a house, nothing extraordinary, but extremely out or place in a compound swarming with the latest security systems Shield could buy. Following his instincts, Clint locked the door with the latch.

Nothing happened, and then suddenly the floor began to move. Clint turned around and was shocked to find the floor had parted before him, revealing a staircase that led _underneath _the cabin. He smirked; he hasn't lost his touch at all.

* * *

"All right, Selvig. You've got 10 minutes to tell me what this 'urgent' matter really is."

A hologram of the professor floated before him courtesy of Jarvis. Tony frowned at the professor's haggard appearance, but he guessed that must be a side-effect of working so close to_it._

Selvig cleared his throat. "There has been a change of plans. _It's _been losing energy faster than we anticipated. Soon, we won't have enough to trace the origin. I need those parts now before it's too late."

"Well, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

He looked away and seemed to share a glance with someone. He received what seemed to be a confirmation of something and nodded. "We had a bit of trouble with the communication tower, but Barton fixed it today so-"

"Wait, Barton? Fury's got _both _of you there? Is he insane?" Tony said outraged.

Selvig sighed, apparently expecting the reaction. "It's dangerous, I know. And I think he's starting to suspect something but I can't just send him away. Barton and I are the only ones with first-hand experience with _it. _We both need to stay here, at least for the moment. The thing works like a virus, it invades the mind and latches on to it, but since Barton and I have already got it once, we won't be as affected by it as everyone else. Think of it as a vaccination of sorts."

"Vaccination." Tony scoffed. "Sure send the two formerly mind-controlled guys to Alaska so they can have their medicine. Yeah, that sounds so logical. What the hell is Fury thinking?"

"It wasn't Fury's idea. It was mine."

"Then why aren't you telling Barton that the thing that turned him into a brainless zombie is hidden just a mile away from him?"

Selvig lowered his head and avoided Tony's eyes. "Barton won't agree. He's been restless lately, told me his nightmares are getting worse. It's true. But it's all part of the process. It'll decrease over time."

"And what if it doesn't?"

"It will. It must."

* * *

Clint's hands started shaking. He wasn't dreaming, he was sure of it. He approached _it, _fists clenched, and tensed. The energy was faint now, not as strong as he remembered it being over a week ago, which was probably why he didn't feel as overwhelmed as he should have been. There _it _was, glowing, the familiar blue light illuminating the dark corners of the hidden room. The staff that has been haunting him in his dreams is actually within arms reach.

* * *

Oh no! a Clint-hanger (too much?). Yeah, ignore that.

It's been one hell of a chapter but so completely worth it. My personal favorite is the LokixParasite sexytime. It was...something alright. And I hope I made Clint a bit more likable in your eyes. He was a bit "bleh" in the previous chapters, but I really do like him.

School's started, and being the new girl in senior year isn't a very thrilling experience. It's filled with lonely lunches in the library, and stuttering and just so much awkwardness. It's going to be a long year.

But the next chapter is definitely going to be updated sooner than this one. And with Loki and Natasha "trusting" each other, there's definitely going to be a big shift in their relationship. More for Loki than Natasha because of his _feels. _

Don't forget to**_ REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW_**. It's food for the soul of starving writers.


	12. Slowly but Surely

Hey guys, I'm back!

Okay, I honestly did plan on updating early, but real life got in the way. Specifically, senior year. Who knew there'd be so much stuff to do on your last year of high school.

Thanks for the reviews, follows and faves! I'm glad everyone responded well to the last chapter. Also, thank you, Grammar Nazis, for pointing out the annoying tense changes. Sorry, if it bothered you. I don't know why I have a bad habit of doing that a lot. I'll get on to that and recheck each chapter. In the meantime, constant vigilance!

Thanks to **E. Edwin** for being an awesome beta and giving some great edits and **Imaginarian **for offering to fix some of my mistakes in previous chapters.

* * *

Chapter 11: Slowly but Surely

Three days passed and Loki was still bed-ridden. The only time he ever left bed was to either to take a bath, or to pace around the small cupboard of a room. The soles of his feet were still healing after he thoughtlessly stepped on the broken lamp's glass and the bandage on his head was changed every day by a certain red-haired assassin. Her constant presence was both soothing an unnerving for Loki. Every time their skin touched, Loki would instantly freeze, his jaw tightened as he tried to keep his composure. Natasha, on the other hand, seemed totally unaware of hisdiscomfort, and even if she did notice, she didn't dare mention it. Her stoic mask was very frustrating to the former god.

Why isn't she affected by anything? He thought.

They would not talk about why she suddenly believed him; she never explained why and he never asked for fear that she might change her mind about him. Both made an unspoken agreement to discuss it when he had healed better.

Natasha kept a professional distance away from Loki, though it was often that she would have to lean in closer in order to wrap the bandage around his head. She would also bring in a tray of food, always piping hot, and leave it on the side table. She would ask him if he was feeling alright, and he would answer with a curt nod. She would leave not long after, and he would be alone once again to dwell on his chaotic thoughts.

Loki didn't sleep soundly at night. The encounter with the parasite felt too fresh for him. He felt soiled, dirty; the beast had left its mark, ensuring that he was wary of its presence. Loki felt that it wanted him to be fearful, to feel frightened enough that he wouldn't dare attempt to break the barrier once again.

Loki tossed and turned. The beast's smile etched into the back of his eyelids, forcing his eyes open and preventing him from resting. His head still throbbed painfully which only worsened his situation. He needed to sleep desperately, not only because he was dreadfully tired, but also because he didn't want to think. He didn't want to think about the troubling revelation concerning his attraction to the assassin, nor what it would entail for their dynamics as the guard and prisoner.

He didn't understand the sentiment; it was one that eluded both logic and common sense. The one time he felt remotely attracted to someone was with Sif and that ended very badly for both of them. But he was child back then, a young lad barely in control of his feelings. He did learn one lesson: people _will _disappoint you. And so far that lesson proved to be true millenniums later.

Natasha Romanoff was a walking liability and Loki knew if she had the faintest idea of what he felt, she would unhesitatingly use it against him. This needed to remain a secret, one that he prayed he would take to his grave.

His stared unblinkingly at the white painted ceiling and tried to form images as he connected the uneven splotches of white paint. He was bored, dreadfully bored. He needed to get out of the confining four walls of his room before it drove him insane.

The bed creaked as he stood up wobbly. A hand on the side table held him firm on his legs as he tried to regain his sense of balance. Once the room had stopped spinning, he continued his shaky way towards the door and headed out to the kitchen for a snack.

As he walked towards the kitchen, he passed by the living room. From the open window, Loki could see the rising dawn between the gaps of the towering skyscrapers, a spotlight of sorts beaming from the east. It bathed the room in a pinkish hue with small shades of orange flitting in between. Through the open door leading to the fire escape, Loki could see the bustling city already bursting to life. He stepped outside and took a deep breath in. The air was not fresh—as expected in a metropolitan city like New York—but had a smell that was distinctive: a mix of pretzels, hotdogs and coffee. It reminded Loki just how alien this planet was to him.

Then a different smell attracted him: the smell of meat cooking.

"So, you managed to get up this morning."

He turned around to the voice in the kitchen. Agent Romanoff had already took out a pan and had it sizzling on the stove. She must have sneaked up behind him while he was on the fire escape. Usually, he was always so alert with his surroundings, but he blamed his headache for corroding his senses. Well, that and Romanoff always had a remarkable ability to sneak up on him.

At least now he wouldn't have to trouble himself with figuring out how to concoct a simple meal with all those Midgardian devices.

He planned to say something witty and insinuating. Yet, the words died on his lips as he approached her. The light from the open window struck her, causing his breath to hitch.

Stop yourself, Loki scolded. Do you want her to see you gawking like a fool?

Quickly, he masked his anxiety in an expression of indifference. Checking his words and the tone of his voice, he finally trusted himself enough to speak.

"Good morning to you too, Agent Romanoff." He said coolly.

Natasha gave him a look, clearly not expecting his rather polite answer. It lasted a moment longer, until finally she lowered her eyes back to her cooking.

It was too soon to breathe a sigh of relief. Loki knew that. He mustn't act too out of character or else she'll begin to suspect that something is wrong. You are the God of Lies, he reminded himself. Surely this isn't much of a task for you. Put that silver tongue of yours to good use.

Natasha continued cooking, flipping the sizzling slices of bacon over with the turner. She watched Loki in the corner of her eye and felt that something was quite amiss with his character. Since when did he say good morning with anything less than a sarcastic tone in his voice? He must have hit his head harder than she thought. A part of her—a silly part—wondered that since she believed his mind control tale this means that they can now be civil to each other. She inwardly laughed at the absurd idea of Loki and her being civil.

The days have passed by with relative calmness, partly due to Loki's bed-ridden state. She did well with healing him, especially considering she never attempted to heal anyone other than Clint before. However, healing Clint was a different matter; they at least seldom had awkward silences, unlike with Loki.

It made her uncomfortable how his eyes went directly to her every time she entered his room. The hallways lights would be behind her, illuminating her silhouette as she walked towards him. For a moment he would look up at her and she would see a flash of fear across his face. It would instantly disappear the moment she began changing his bandage. Natasha swore she heard him release a sigh of relief.

He wouldn't look at her directly in the eyes as she changed his bandage; He stared at the wall, the foot of the bed, the ceiling, the door past her shoulder, he would stare at anything so as long as it wasn't her. She could have suspected this as nothing more than his anxiety of having someone so near him, especially when he is in such a vulnerable state. But, something told her that it wasn't that simple.

Loki continued to stare at her, and she was well aware that he was. She kept her composure, nonchalantly placing the bacon on two plates. She then proceeded to cook the eggs. His stare was beginning to bother her a bit. To be studied like some specimen under a microscope was something that greatly irritated her.

"Why don't you make yourself some coffee?" She told him, as she gestured over to the coffee maker at the end counter.

Loki eyed the device warily and only faintly remembered how Romanoff had prepared theirs a few days earlier. He tried to imitate her actions, successfully making a decent cup of coffee. He silently congratulated himself for this little achievement. Then, an absurd thought, one he swore was completely impulsive, crossed his mind: Shouldn't he make a cup for the Agent as well? He scoffed at the idea. When was he the amiable prisoner? If there was one way to send a warning signal to the Agent, it was by offering her a cup of coffee.

So, he hoisted himself on top of the counter, quietly sipping his mug as he observed her cooking.

She felt his eyes on her again. She tried to ignore him, concentrating far more intently on a pair of sunny-side up eggs than completely necessary.

Natasha finished the eggs, both perfectly cooked because of her attentiveness. She gave one of the plates to Loki, who eyed the food curiously before shrugging. As they sat at the bar counter, forks and knives clinking loudly, Natasha was quickly reminded of something that she planned to bring up.

"Loki," She said. He looked up, the end of a slice of bacon sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Her voice was back to its familiar professional tone—stern and commanding. "We need to talk about what's happened to you, about this Thanos, and his plans for Earth. I need you to tell me everything you know."

His eyes lowered as he downed a large swig of his coffee. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he turned to her. "You actually place your trust on me?" He asked skeptically.

She paused for a moment, silently contemplating her answer. "I believe that no sane man—evil or not—would willingly slam their head in a mirror without a proper explanation." Her fork poked the yolk of her egg timidly. "But just because I believe you, doesn't mean I trust you." She stabbed a slice of bacon before popping it into her mouth.

"Seems justified." Loki shifted in his seat. "What information do you desire?"

"Like I said, tell me _everything_."

"Well, _everything _encompasses a rather large territory. I highly doubt we have the time to discuss my life story, especially considering the numbers of millenniums I've lived through. Where do I begin?" Loki already knew her answer before she uttered a word.

"How about how you left Asgard in the first place."

He resisted the urge to smirk. Ever the clever woman, she is; always searching for a way over him. "Is this another-what did you call it-'quid pro quo', Agent Romanoff?"

"Perhaps," She stared into his eyes, and Loki looked away, hoping she did not see through his mask. "But, I was hoping that you'd start this time."

Again, he made sure that his voice was devoid of the anxiety that he truly felt. "So I assume you will be telling me more of yours."

Her eyes narrowed. "You never really told me why you need to know my past."

Now that he thought about it, he never really mentioned why he needed her past in the first place. Loki took a deep breath and began to explain. "There is a barrier in my mind. It blocks away a part of my memories, and prevents me from seeing the full portrait of what Thanos has done to me. There is also a parasite, a servant of the Titan, feeding on my subconscious, torturing me with…" He swallowed, "…_disturbing_ images.

"If Barton told me correctly, you experienced a similar phenomenon; not exactly identical, but close. The program psychologically changed your mentality, though you were fully aware of that during the time as I am now in mine. They blocked your memories, your name, everything. Yet, you managed to escape from it, break free from the bondage. I need to know how in order to break my own bonds."

He could see that Natasha was a bit overwhelmed by the information. Perhaps, he should have told her slowly and waited for her to digest everything. He mentally kicked himself; since when did you start caring what she thought. Natasha looked down on her plate, hand unmoving on the fork. She seemed to be thinking of something; of what, Loki could only guess.

Finally she spoke.

"It won't work." She said.

Loki's lips tightened and his brows furrowed. His heart began to beat rapidly as his most fearful possibility was finally voiced out loud. "And why would it not?" He tried to sound unaffected, but the anger and fear seeped into his voice.

Natasha shook her head as if admonishing him for his lack of foresight. "It's not that simple."

"Fine." Loki abruptly stood up from the table. His chair nearly toppled over at the sudden movement. "If that's what you believe then-"

"Then what? You're going to storm off again like you did last time?" She interrupted abruptly. "You know, I've noticed something these past few days." She stood up from her own chair and crossed her arms, attempting to look intimidating despite her short stature. Loki looked down on her, eyes as cold as his heritage. He turned to leave, but her hand grabbed him by the crook of his arm and he stilled.

"You're a coward." Romanoff spat. "You take so much pride in manipulating others that when the time comes for the tables to turn, you lash out. You withdraw quickly and hide in that little shell you call your ego. Well, I'm sick of it. For once in your life, just _listen_. Because if you really do want my help then quit the high and mighty act."

Loki was slightly taken aback by her observations. So, she had been analyzing him more keenly than he thought. He reviewed his actions and noticed that indeed, he did have his moments when his composure broke and all the frustrations and anxiety spilled out for her to dissect. Still, despite his outrage at her invasion, one portion of her statement stood out to him. He might have heard it wrong though.

"You'll help me?" He asked hesitantly

"I don't go back on a deal." She said resolutely.

He hated her false morality, the moral code that supposedly made her different from the rest of the cold-blooded killers. He hated the way her hand felt warm on his sleeve, or that despicable sentiment growing in his chest. Loki hated it all. He truly did.

"Listen," Natasha sighed and removed her hand. "I think being cooped up in this apartment for the past few days have made us a bit irritable. Before we start this quid pro quo, I think we should head out for some fresh air. That way, there's a less likely chance for us to start choking each other."

* * *

"...been the third day since shipment and the parts still aren't here. No, I didn't misplace them. How could I misplace something that I don't even have? There haven't been any unexpected storms lately so I don't see why they're still not…Well, for a supposedly _on time_ shipment, it's been three days since I called you and I still don't have them. Listen, I don't think you realize how important…So, I guess you do know. Then, you should be aware that the staff hasbeen losing energy rapidly-"

"Professor Selvig?" Barton asked casually as he leaned against the wall. They were in the head office of the Beehive—as Clint thoughtfully dubbed the research building. It was an oval room above the main floor with a window on one side of the wall that overlooked the great mass of busy brainiacs below. It was bare, except for a few charts and graphs on the walls and a desk with a chair. Scattered paperwork littered the area, several of them crumpled into paper balls, all completely in disarray like a mind surrounded with distractions.

Selvig swallowed nervously and quickly mumbled into the phone. "I'll call you back. Now remember, Stark, I need the parts." He quickly hung up and placed the phone in his back pocket. He turned to Clint, a strained smile on his face. "The parts from Stark still haven't come, but he assured me that he sent them three days ago. Must be a little trouble with the shipment."

"Must be." Clint said as he shrugged his shoulders. "You called for me, Selvig?"

"Oh yes, I'm sorry. I've been panicking about the parts for the satellite. We can't launch it until we have the electromagnetic pulse generator from Stark."

"Electromagnetic? Isn't that going to affect Earth once you detonate it?"

"No, Stark designed it to move in one direction only, so it'll miss Earth but will travel through the vacuum of space instead. Don't ask me how he did it, I doubt I'd be able explain anything that's happening in that man's mind. He's brilliant, completely insufferable, but brilliant. Plus, we have the perfect conductor for-" Selvig shook his head as he rubbed his temples. "Anyway, I called you here to ask you how you're doing."

The marksman once again shrugged his shoulders flippantly. "Alright, I guess."

Selvig sat down on the chair and placed both his hands on the desk. He gestured for him to sit on one of the free chairs in front of him. "And the nightmares? Last time we talked, you said they were getting worse."

Clint pushed off the stray papers on the sofa and plopped down on the seat. "It's been getting better. Doesn't bother me as much now." He stared at the window behind Selvig, and fiddled with the sleeves of his jacket.

"That's good." Selvig leaned back on his chair, visibly relieved.

"Is that all, professor?" Clint said.

"Oh, yes, yes, that's all. I'm sorry to bother you. Just call me if anything unexpected happens." He waved off Clint, who hastily stood up, clearly eager to leave the room.

The door slammed behind the marksman, and Selvig turn the rotating chair towards the window. He held his phone in his hands and quickly dialed a familiar number. He wasn't done hassling Stark, yet.

* * *

He walked down the facility's corridors. His boots echoed down the hallway, down the staircase leading to the inner bowels of the warehouse. It was darker in this area. Small florescent lights were attached to the ceilings, but barely held enough light for one to see a few feet in front of him. His holster, firmly strapped on his leg, was a comforting tool as he infiltrated the inner workings of the research facility. His master had assigned him a mission, one that would further their cause. If it was fruitful, then in return the Master would offer him the cube; offer him the chance to remake history and himself. It would make him invincible.

Suddenly, he heard a noise. An agent, not physically remarkable, came from the far end of the hallway. Quickly, the man shot him. The agent barely had enough time to utter a sound before the bullet hit its mark: dead center in his forehead.

He approached the dead agent, admiring his work a few moments before picking up the dead man's ID card, his identity, and continuing on his way.

* * *

Dun Dun Dun! Oh, i do love Clint-hangers, though I can't really say _who_ the last person really is. Let's just say, Thanos is slowly but surely tying the plots together. See what I did there.

I've learned my lesson. I'm not promising anything that I can't fulfill, especially with the school as unpredictable as it is and SATs looming in the corner. I've got half of the next chapter typed up-mostly the flashbacks-but i still need to revise a couple of things. I'll have it up _soon. _

Thanks for all the support everyone. Sorry, this update has been shorter than you all probably hoped.

Don't forget to **_REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW_**


	13. The Truth

AHAHA! I'm back. Long time no update. Frustrating isn't it? I'm terribly sorry, everyone. I'm such a horrible updater, I know. On the bright side, I finally burned my SAT review book. Never doing that again, thank goodness.

But, here's the anticipated chapter that I finally managed to finish. And like most of the uber-ly long chapters that I've written, it's mostly Loki/Natasha stuff and development as well as the big flashback quid pro quo. I wasn't sure how many readers have watched Thor so if there are some parts that confused you, I'm sorry. I tried to put the gist of what happened and most of Loki's perspective on it.

Thanks you all that reviewed, favorited, and followed! I'm so thankful for your patience and support, especially with my lousy updates. By the way, loved how you guys reacted to the change in Loki and Natasha's relationship. And I'm also happy that Selvig and Clint's plot is receiving positive responses.

Thanks to **E. Edwin **for the edits and the brilliant idea for the memorial. Beta takes all the credit for that one; I just wrote it. And thanks again for dragging me out of my writer's block.

So, here's the chapter guys, enjoy :)

* * *

Chapter 12: The Truth

They walked the streets of Manhattan yet again. Loki no longer fumbled in the crowd like a lost child. Now, he seemed more like a dog on a leash. Natasha, with a hand held firmly on the crook of his arm, guided him through the mob. He did not like it one bit. He felt like a cripple, which he technically was considering how each step seemed to cause a stinging sensation in the soles of his feet. The glass wounds hadn't healed yet, much to Loki's annoyance. After she had noticed the pained expression on his face and his slow shuffle, Natasha had offered him a hand.

"Take that blasted thing away. I have no need of your 'help.'" He had said, though he lacked the conviction that the command required.

"Take it or we'll be going back to the apartment." She had warned. She did not lack conviction.

With a scowl and a mutter, Loki relented.

They walked the streets looking the very image of a lovely couple; the tall, dashing man with a small yet beautiful redhead at his side. Natalie and Tom, a normal loving couple that lived in an apartment in Midtown. However, if one were to look closer they would notice the bags beneath the man's eyes, the slight limp he had with each stride and the unusually tight grip the woman had on his arm.

They walked with a slow gait, almost looking like tourist if it weren't for the fact that they didn't seem to gawk at every passing skyscraper. They weren't tourist in a sense that they were visitors, but the air of outsiders—of not belonging—surrounded them. Yet no one seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. People walked past, barely offering them a second glance, and continued on with their lives. Natasha and Loki were only too grateful of the infamous New York attitude: "Mind your own business."

Natasha held on to him tightly, knowing too well how uncomfortable it was for both of them. She already planned where they were heading. There was a quiet Russian bar in the depths of East Village; nothing too well-known, just one she stumbled upon by chance during a mission. It was quite a number of blocks away, and while she did enjoy walking there, she doubted Loki would be as keen as her considering his state. They would have to take the subway. That would be an interesting, she mused. The closest station would be Grand Central just a few blocks from where they were.

Grand Central after the invasion was never the same. The city continued on as usual but tension strained the air in every street and alley. It was a feeling that reminded Natasha of another incident early in the decade; the day it rained rubble and fire in the streets of downtown Manhattan. There was a stifling atmosphere of somberness, yet at the same time there was an acute awareness of the new group of superheroes assigned as their saviors. From the crowd, she could pick out the people who were present during the invasion. They all had that cloud of experience in their eyes that told her how much trauma the whole catastrophe inflicted upon them. While the others around them exuded a new hope from the Avengers, they held a thoughtful solemnity as the losses of that day continued to haunt them.

Loki strode beside her, completely unaware of the true victims of his ego. Maybe the trip to Grand Central will enlighten him a bit.

Natasha didn't enter Grand Central at 42nd street, but instead continued on to the Main Terminal at Park Ave; beside it was the ever glorious Stark Tower, newly renovated and standing tall. The tower clearly reflected its owner's unrivaled ego; immovable and indestructible. She tried to ignore the hideous building.

They entered the terminal and the first thing she noticed was that the gaping hole—where one of the Leviathans that Hulk and Thor defeated had laid—had been repaired. The second thing she noticed was the new marble monument erected in place of the iconic Grand Central clock.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Loki staring curiously on the monument. With a hand still on his arm, she led him towards it, knowing perfectly well how risky it was for him to be there in the first place. But he needed to see this, she decided.

The monument was not just one bronze statue, but many. They wore familiar uniforms that signified the very essence of chivalry and heroism. They were uniforms that several years from that day would be known to have been worn by men and women of the highest degree. They were policemen, firemen, soldiers, everyday heroes who on that day showed that they did not need a suit of armor, godly powers, or an invincible shield to do their jobs: Save people. They did not stand erect like most would expect but stood with their hands reaching out to those below them.

Around them were miniature statues of men and women…and children. Victims, so many victims. They circled the larger statues in an oval. Each miniature was unique, different in a way that they each were modeled after the actual person. An uncanny resemblance that was purely intentional. There were names etched beneath each and one large phrase circled the stand on which they stood that said:

"A Hero In All of Us. In Memory of Those Lost."

They passed by it too closely for it not to be purely coincidence. But Natasha didn't need to encourage anything; Loki seemed to have noticed the monument the moment they entered. Intentionally, she led him towards it and he surprisingly didn't resist. The monument was three times their size combined, and so they circled it. While they were circling it, one miniature caught Loki's eye: a young boy, a child, holding the hand of an older gentleman who presumably was his father. The names etched supported this presumption.

Natasha couldn't tell what emotion crossed Loki's face, but his eyes never left the etchings. She felt the muscle beneath her hand tense, and saw his mouth tighten. Yet, he made no sound.

"What is this?" He asked.

"A memorial, for the people who died during the invasion." She said evenly.

His eyes hardened as he looked once more at the father and son statues. "You humans are so sentimental." He mumbled.

She tried not to take the insult personally; she knew he was simply lashing out as usual. He needed to in order to not feel empathy for the people he indirectly killed. It was a sign that this was affecting him more than he liked to admit. She didn't answer him but simply gave him a knowing look that aggravated him all the more.

"Do you think this means anything to me?" He sneered.

Natasha turned to the miniature father and son. "Let's get going."

She gently tugged him towards the platforms. His eyes lingered one last time at the monument. "It doesn't." He mumbled to himself. "It doesn't."

He gripped the rail tightly. What kind monstrous contraption was this? Agent Romanoff beside him regarded him with an amused smile. She enjoyed his pain, didn't she? The train jerked into another turn, so he clutched the steel pole with his life. The beast of a transportation system provided no comfort at all, and in addition the claustrophobic atmosphere, the suffocating smell didn't do wonders to change his opinion. He took a deep breath and could swear that the smell itself had a sour taste to it. It made him shudder with just the thought of it.

The train once again jerked, causing him to lose his balance. Loki involuntarily clutched Natasha's arm for support before he fully tipped over. She looked at him with a raised brow then eyed the hand on her arm pointedly. He recoiled quickly after noticing his hand lingered longer than absolutely necessary.

The train slowed, the rails screeching irritably as they approached the stop. Finally it came into a halt, and an announcer with a rather nasally accent announced the present station. About half the people in the cart emptied out of the train into the platform, leaving quite a number of seats empty. Natasha walked over to a seat near the door and plopped herself down; Loki followed suit beside her, feeling a bit uncomfortable and disgusted at the warmness of the seats. The train roughly rode on.

There were a few people left on the cart with them. Most kept to themselves, ignoring the strange looking couple. Loki scanned the crowd; there was a group of men in business discussing some private matter on the corner, an old woman carrying a raggedy plastic bag of groceries on one side, and a teenager with a camera wrapped around his neck. The boy was scrawny and also carried a skateboard with him, yet it wasn't his appearance that caught Loki's attention. It was the fact that the boy was staring intently at him with a worried look on his face.

He shifted uneasily and turned to Agent Romanoff, who didn't seem to have noticed the odd boy. He leaned closer to her ear, looking like a man whispering endearments of some sort.

"There's a suspicious looking individual who can't seem to take his eyes off us."

Natasha turned to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Loki stiffened.

"I know." She whispered low enough so only he could hear. "Just act natural."

Her hand tightened around his arm and she sighed loudly. He immediately saw what she had in mind. Loki tried to loosen up, truly he did, but the cinnamon smell of her hair overwhelmed him and flooded his senses. Her hair felt soft against his cheek and he was sorely tempted to lean closer. This was doing nothing to discourage his attraction. Absolutely nothing. He hoped she couldn't hear the rapid beating of his heart.

And yet, despite his stiffness, the position felt strangely comfortable.

From the corner of his eye, the teenager was still staring at them, yet now with his brows furrowed as he held confused expression. The couple act was not working as planned. Usually, no one suspected the couple with unabashed public displays of affection.

He buried his nose in her hair, and whispered: "He's still staring."

The train began slowing down and the finally stopped at the platform. The announcer declared their stop just as the doors slid open.

"Follow my lead." She whispered and abruptly stood up, dragging Loki with her.

The walked out of the train in a steady pace. Natasha could see the teenager following them not so subtly. They turned a corner towards the stairs that led to the street. Luckily, there wasn't an overabundance of people at that platform. So, when they quickly bounded to an empty corner, there were no witnesses. The teenager followed after them, and turned to the empty corner. He stood confused when he realized where they led him.

Natasha approached him, her arms crossed. "Why are you following us?" she asked, her eyes narrowed dangerously.

The boy looked slightly embarrassed at being caught. "I-I…um…" He stuttered as he ran a hand through his hair.

"I'll ask you again. Why are you following us?" Natasha repeated walking closer.

Loki stood behind her, leaning against the brick wall with his arms crossed. "It's best that you answer her, boy." He added.

The teen looked back and forth between the couple then placed his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. "When I saw you both at the train, I thought I recognized you from somewhere." He gestured to Loki. "I don't know. So I wanted to take a picture." He held up his camera.

He was being truthful; that much Loki knew. But, there was something the boy wasn't telling them. From the suspicious expression on Natasha's face, she seemed to have come to the same conclusion. "Where did you recognize me from?" Loki asked casually. Though, he already had a faint assumption that the boy might have recognized him as the man who destroyed half of Midtown.

"You know, somewhere. I thought you were an actor or something." The boy shrugged his shoulders. He tried to sound nonchalant, but the tremor in his voice on the last word gave away his nerves.

"Right…" Natasha drawled. "What's your name, kid?"

"Peter."

"Well, Peter. You wouldn't mind if I check the memory card in your camera then?"

His eyes widened. "H-How?"

"You weren't too subtle on the train."

Loki smirked at the boy's horrified expression. Actually he was slightly impressed. Natasha held her hand out for the camera but the teen was quick to hold it closer to himself. "Why should I give it to you? I mean, this is the United States, right? Don't we have like freedom of the press or something? Come on."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Don't make this more difficult than it should be." The boy still held on to his camera even tighter and she sighed. Pulling out a badge from inside the jacket of her pocket, she flipped to show it to the boy. "Listen, trust me when I say, I can make your life a living hell if you don't give me that card. And if you doubt my promise, then you're running the risk of going against your own country. So, it's probably your best interest to do as I say—now."

Loki had heard that tone before. It was the same she used to order him Peter eyed the badge warily, before finally relenting and giving her the card. "Fine. This sucks."

Natasha extracted the card, held it against the light, then swiftly placed it inside her jacket's pocket. She smiled stiffly. "Thank you for your cooperation." She tossed the boy back his camera and walked away with Loki limping closely behind.

Before they left completely, Peter stared after them and pointed at Loki. "Is he in some kind of witness protection program or something? Or are you guys like spies for the government?"

Natasha gave him a smirk. "Something like that."

After the unexpected detour, Natasha and Loki walked the streets of East Village until they came across the Russian bar they were looking for. It was a small but well dressed bar, yet there wasn't a great abundance of people considering that it was still mid-noon. It was dimly lit with a faint red and gold theme across the room. Loki could hear what he assumed to be Russian music playing the background and the smell of vodka and lychee permeated the room.

They entered, and a man from the counter beamed at Agent Romanoff. They seemed to be familiar since she smiled back at him. She let go of his arm, crossed over to the bar counter, leaving Loki to slowly—and painfully—walk after her. Her smile was wide, genuine but polite. There was a man at the counter, burly and tall. His smile was just as wide—perhaps even more so—as he walked around to embrace the small frame of the Agent.

Loki's brows furrowed. There was a sense of camaraderie around them, yet there was still a disturbing lurching at the back of his throat. For some reason, he immediately did not like the man. Loki did not like the smile he had on his face nor the hand placed on the small of Romanoff's back. They spoke in what he assumed was Russian. Thankfully, with the All-tongue, the language of the Asgardians, he clearly understood what they said.

"It's been a while since you visited, Natalia." The man said as he used her former name and Loki wondered whether they had met before Natasha's employment with Shield.

"I'm sorry, Ilia. I've been very busy lately." Natasha said as she smiled cryptically.

"Or so I've heard." The man, or Ilia as he was called, smirked and nodded in understanding. Loki's eyes narrowed and suspected that this was no ordinary barkeep. He finally released her from his arms and warmly looked down on her. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"A table would be nice for my friend and I." She indicated Loki behind her with a tilt of her head.

Ilia appraised Loki with a suspicious glint in his eye. "Is he Russian?" He asked.

"No."

"He doesn't look American."

"He's not from around here either." Natasha said with a tone of finality.

"Alright." He still didn't regard Loki with any difference. His wary stance was still present, more so than before, and Loki wasn't at all made no indication that he understood everything they said, but merely looked on with an impassive glance.

Ilia led them to a table at the corner of the bar, away from whoever might overhear them speak. There weren't many people in the first place but it didn't hurt to be cautious, especially considering the topic of their discussion.

They ordered drinks. Loki asked Natasha to choose for him since he wasn't overly familiar with the alcohol. His only preference was that it was cold. Natasha ordered "her usual" and asked for a Medovukha, which Loki later realized tasted very similar to Mead. Ilia walked away after giving them their drinks.

"_Interesting_ friends you have, Agent Romanoff." Loki commented after he was certain the burly man was out of earshot.

"He's an old acquaintance." She replied simply as she sipped her clear colored drink. Vodka, Loki assumed. He had noticed how much she preferred the drink over anything else. "Oh, and here." She tossed him the memory card she took from the boy. "That was too close a call."

"I'm aware of that." He held the card in his hand and turned it around. "I'm grateful by the way." He added thoughtlessly. He didn't actually intend for the phrase to leave his mouth and only realized after it was too late. He was becoming careless around her.

She noticed as well, given the look that she gave him. She sipped her drink before she answered dismissively. "It's my job."

"Of course," Loki said. "Your _duty_." He too drank his own drink as he looked away from her.

Natasha observed the hardened look in his eyes, and wondered what brought on the change. This was getting uncomfortable as the thought of Loki being grateful, let alone openly admitting it, was about as foreign and unprecedented as anything else. They needed to return to a more common, familiar ground before they venture into something more unusual.

"Speaking of duty." Loki's eyes instantly met hers. "There's still a matter of our quid pro quo season."

Loki scowled. "Ah, yes. It was my turn, wasn't it?"

"Yes. I hoped the change in atmosphere would help a bit. We both needed a bit of air. And don't worry." She lifted the collar of her jacket revealing a small disk-like object attached to it. "We're invisible as long as I have this on. No one can hear us, not Shield, not anyone." The device was similar to what was in the apartment, only this was her personal one, not Stark's.

"That's mildly comforting, but I doubt it will ease the pain of my tale."

"We_ need_ to do this remember. My help for yours. The sooner you tell yours, the sooner I tell mine, and then we can tackle the bigger picture in hand."

"_I know_." He near growled. "Do not assume I'm oblivious. I know perfectly well the urgency of the situation."

"Then start talking." Natasha answered, her patience thinning.

Loki sighed and leaned back against the red chair as he took a long drink from his glass. "Fine. You want your tale, Agent Romanoff, I'll give you your tale." His throat started to tighten, but he refused to choke. Essential, Loki convinced himself, this was absolutely essential. Natasha eyed his reactions curiously and it bothered Loki just how much he would expose himself to this woman. To this woman who he hated, loathed and reluctantly admired. He would lay himself bare before her, completely and utterly vulnerable to her prodding. He was going to show her the man beneath the monster, and that frightened him beyond words.

So he opened up the old wounds, wounds that had never healed but have festered and infected him to his core. He saw the flashes of events that haunted his sleep: the pain, the betrayal, the horror, the grief, and the loss.

* * *

_It must have been a trick of the light, a Jotun illusion meant to distract him. He recalled the prickling of his skin, the chilling realization that he felt no cold amidst the frozen planet, the sensation of a spell being broken, and the sight of his skin shattering and the blue beneath showing; there was no way that he could be-_

_The memory of their journey to Jotunheim haunted Loki. He cursed himself for even believing that tricking an aggravated Thor into a reckless quest would be beneficial for anyone. Now, where had that brought him? Thor was banished, Jotunheim was demanding war, Odin was furious, and Loki was no step closer to the crown than he was earlier. Yet, the most troubling of all was the image of his hand turning blue when the Frost Giant touched him. It was troubling and a nagging voice inside his head told him that it wasn't just a simple illusion._

_Atop one of the courtyard's birch tree__s__ he sat, one leg drawn close to him while the other dangled on the edge of the branch. He leaned against the trunk, eyes dully tracing the contours of light shining between the leaves. What was he to do now? Plucking a leaf, he recalled a lesson he had with his father as a child._

_They say that Midgard was created from the flesh of Ymir, the primordial giant of the ancients. The clouds __were__ his brain; the hills, his bones; the sea, his blood; and the trees, his hair. It was such a strange image, he thought as a child. To think an entire realm was created by the remains of the Father of Frost Giants. It was no wonder the giants tried to bring eternal winter to Earth. And maybe that's why Midgard was constantly in such a sorry state._

_The Frost Giants thought to take advantage of that vulnerable realm and take what they thought was rightfully theirs. Their overpopulated Jotunheim could not carry the immense population of giants, so they chose to take root on the unsuspecting planet, plotting to recreate it in their home's image. Unfortunately, they did not anticipate the Asgardians. Midgard has always been a favorite destination for the Aesirs; the Midgrdians were a primitive folk but had great potential and creativity and the realm served as a great bridge to the rest of the cosmos. Also, the Aesirs could not allow the Jotuns to have any more territory. So they fought back._

_Jotunheim fell, and the once glorious city of ice was burned to the ground. A great massacre came that decimated over half of their population, yet stabilized their planet's carrying capacity. Odin took from them the Casket of Ancient Winters, the source of their power. Laufey, the King of the Frost Giants, surrendered, but always bore a never-ending grudge towards the King of Asgard. A grudge far more personal than the destruction of his half his race._

_And yet, Loki had a suspicion that there was more to the story than he was previously told._

_Loki rubbed the leaf between his thumb and index finger._

_Suddenly, from the tips of his fingers, a lace of frost stretched out, weaving out the leaf's pattern like a strand of thread. It engulfed it, leaving it icy and frozen. Loki, shocked, dropped the leaf. It shattered into shards on the ground._

_He needed answers._

* * *

_"TELL ME!"_

_He swore he heard the shattering of glass as the truth of his false life was finally revealed. The world he knew, the family he trusted, and everything were nothing more than lies woven to cover the harsh and painful truth. Loki clutched onto the threads; hopelessly trying to force them together, trying to prevent the entire tapestry from falling apart. But it was too late. The frost had seeped through._

_No, it couldn't be. He was one of them. He belonged here, in Asgard. He had to be._

_Tell me I'm wrong, father. Tell me._

_But he wasn't._

_And as the story unfolded, as the truth of his parentage, of his real purpose, was painfully bestowed upon him, Loki felt himself falling apart. He was no Prince of Asgard, no Son of Odin. He was the son of a monster. Laufeyson, he spat._

_It all explained why he never felt like he belonged in Asgard no matter how hard he tried to. He hoped that the reason was simply because of his preference for magic instead of physical combat. He hoped it was something insubstantial and superficial, something easily changeable. But no, not this. No magic is strong enough to change the blood that flowed through his veins: the blood of a monster. He was a tool, a relic kept to be used as a bargaining chip. His "father" filled him with false hopes, motivated him—and for what? Was that all he was worth? His eyes stung._

_Then, the anger came._

_All the hurt, the jealously and pain that had built up over centuries came apart and Loki lashed out. It all made sense now. Thor, the throne, it all made perfect sense. All those times he tried to prove that he was better than Thor, and each time he was proven wrong, always outmatched in both popularity and affection. All those times, he never really had a chance._

_Loki spat out millions of years of spite and insecurities. He spat out all the resentment that he hid deep inside him. So that was the reason all along? His father saw him as a spawn of a Frost Giant, unable to take the throne, never his son, never equally loved; a false Prince of Asgard, he was._

_His anger blinded him as the bitterness continued to flow in his words. It was only until his father lay before him, his hand feebly trying to reach out to him, that he realized what was happening. Loki leaned down his father's sleeping form; his hand hesitantly reached out for his, a worried crest on his brow._

_Did he cause this?_

* * *

_The irony of it all wasn't lost to him. He was finally king; a long sought after dream that, for a moment, seemed impossible. Yet, here he was, holding the spear, Gungnir. He dreamt about this all his life, yearned for it, but now the thought of the throne left an empty feeling within him. Who is he to celebrate when his father—if he still called him that—slept in a comatose state? Was it the monster in him that brought about this catastrophe?_

_He dropped the spear unceremoniously on the bed. It felt wrong in his hands._

_He was so confused. Of all the times for the Allfather to fall into the Odinsleep, a sleep meant to replenish the god's divine powers, it had to be at that precise moment. He left Loki with no answers, no explanations. Only the fleeting comfort of Frigga, his mother, helped to calm the fears. But only somewhat._

_"There should be no secrets in a family." She had said._

_There shouldn't be, but Loki wasn't exactly family was he? He buried his head in his hands. He wasn't their son._

_His quarters seemed to be getting smaller, suffocating him with its golden walls. The Asgardian evening shone through the balcony, illuminating a moonlit pathway in the otherwise dark room. From the corner of his eye, Loki saw the trinkets he had collected over the years: sketches of landscapes far away, a piece of the dress he had convinced Thor to wear, a map of the cosmos framed on his walls, his first book of spells and a stiff portrait of his family on the study desk. All of them lies; reminders of why he never belonged. If only he could prove one last time that he did._

_His gaze traveled through the length of the spear eyeing the very symbol of power with a thoughtful expression. This was his now—or at least for the time being. This kingdom was his; the throne, everything. Loki could do anything he pleased and no one could stop him, especially with Thor banished. His fingers trailed the smooth golden surface that radiated power. Opportunity shone just as brightly as Gungnir._

_Prove them wrong. Prove to them that you are an Odinson; that you do deserve this throne, that you are better than your brother. Prove them all wrong._

_He grasped the spear and knew exactly what he needed to do._

* * *

_He killed him. The King of Jotunheim disintegrated before his eyes, leaving nothing behind but a trail of sparks. For some strange reason, Loki expected it to hurt more, expected a shuddering blow to his heart the moment he committed patricide. But there was nothing; just a strange sense of satisfaction knowing that the last obstacle in his path has finally been obliterated, that the last reminder of his monstrosity was finally dead._

_But the look Laufey gave him before his death disturbed him. It was a look of horrific recognition. He knew who Loki was at last. The lost Prince of Jotunheim knowingly disowned his own father right after killing him with his adopted one's spear. Both were symbolic and literal statements that emphasized Loki's decision. He was and will always be Loki of Asgard._

_Now, for the rest of the monsters—_

_He set off to destroy the race he was originally born into._

* * *

_Loki dangled on the edge, one hand firmly clutching the handle of Mjolnir for the first and last time. So Thor had managed to stop him just in time. But destroying the Bifrost, he managed to effectively save what was left of the monsters and in return he won't ever be able to embrace his beloved mortal. The self-sacrificing hero, Loki thought bitterly. Midgard had truly softened him. Thor dangled above him, his own hand gripping Mjolnir as Odin held his foot._

_Odin. Father. Awake._

_So, he always had the worst of luck didn't he?_

_"I could have done it, father? For you. For all of us." Loki said to him, hoping tha__t h__is father would understand his purpose._

_No pride shone on the elder's eye; just disappointment, regret, and shame. Loki's heart clenched as his eyes burned with unshed tears. Did he cause this?_

_"No, Loki."_

_The echo of shattering glass. The broken illusion. The realization of the monster. The false hope. The broken man. The last thread torn._

_He could not face them. Not after this, not after the truth has come to light, not after what he had done. No, he could never face them again. Becaus__e t__hey would have been right from the very beginning. He was a monster. He was nothing more than that._

_"You don't deserve the love of the loved ones you have betrayed."_

_Then, he will not face them. All the hopes, the dreams of glory, of acceptance, of his future, his family; they were gone._

_So, he let go and embraced the darkness._

* * *

Reaction is best saved for later, because...because. :)

I apologize again for the overly late updates. I'll try to keep it as consistent as possible and avoid month long hiatus.

Hope that Loki's flashback was as good as everyone hoped it would be. I nearly drowned in tears after rewatching Thor several times and trying to get into the character's mind throughout it. I wanted to dissect his thoughts further but I thought that it would be best to save that for later chapters. Too much feels.

Don't forget to _**Review, Review, Review!**_


	14. The Reunion

Yes, ladies and gents, your eyes do not deceive you. I have returned from the grave.

You guys are seriously one of the most patient people ever. And no, that is not sarcasm right there. After three months, I expected people to be bombarding me with hate and flames for not updating anything. But, surprisingly, I've only received a handful of reviews, and they're not even the hateful ones, but are instead the encouraging kind that makes me want to update faster than before. So, thank you, guys. I really appreciate it.

I am so sorry about the long delay. It's been a busy _busy _three months. But thank God, it's been starting to settle down enough that I can sit down and start writing once again. Half of this chapter was written three months ago, and the other half was finished just recently so, I apologize if there's a little discontinuity with some parts. I admit, I'm still a bit rusty after not writing anything but college essays for the last three months. Hopefully, I'll start to get the hang of things once again.

Special thanks to my beta **E. Edwin, **who's endless patience and quality edits never fail to amaze me. I swear this story would not have gone far without the meticulous edits and grammar checks. So, thank you so much once again.

Here you go, guys. The comeback chapter:

* * *

Chapter 13: The Reunion

The cloth glided smoothly on the mahogany bar counter. Ilia watched the two people in the corner; his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Natalia had never brought anyone to the bar before, let alone someone who wasn't from the Motherland. So for her to bring a man was quite unusual. He trusted her, perhaps more so than he should, but that didn't stop him from being wary. He respected her and held a tiny—yet healthy—dose of fear.

He continued to gaze at them from the corner of his eye, curiously observing how the man she brought seemed to be telling a very long tale of sorts and Natalia merely sat attentively. Was this an interrogation? He didn't know. It would seem so. He could not see Natalia's face, her back was to him, but Ilia could clearly see the man's expression: a look of restrained emotion. Lips tightened, eyes downcast and lowered, the blonde man seemed to have finished his tale. He took one gulp of his drink and turned away from Natalia. Ilia wished he could walk closer and hear their conversation.

Unfortunately, he was momentarily distracted by a new customer entering the bar. He greeted the young lady, a small blonde woman, with a smile and an amiable "Good Afternoon." The woman smiled back before settling on a table at the opposite corner of the bar.

The puzzles were slowly falling into place. The loss of identity, the revelation that he was a monster all along, that was what triggered the transformation. Loki saw himself as the one wrongfully scorned. The master of lies living a lie; surely, such a blow would render both his ego and his esteem irreparable. Coupled with the fact that his biological father was of a race he had been taught to despise would have crippled any weak man.

But from what Natasha had seen, Loki was anything but weak, and yet at the same time, he was ignorant in certain aspects. He turned his sadness into hate, despair into anger, and cursed the world with his wrath. Better to be angry with the world than with himself. She understood somewhat, for had it not been for Clint's choice to save her, she probably would have probably ended up like him.

Sympathy, an emotion dangerous in her line of work. Sympathy for the enemy even more so. And though Loki technically was her ally at the moment, their less than friendly partnership was strained at best. She needed to keep things professional, no matter what her personal thoughts were. So, she put on her mask and held back whatever sentiment she felt, as her duty dictated her to.

Loki relished the burn of the alcohol, the way the liquid left a trail of warmth down his throat. Yet it failed to quench his suddenly dry mouth. It actually made it worse. He had told her everything and he felt so exposed at the moment. He did not want to see her expression for fear of what might be there. Now that she knew everything, he expected her to be dissecting each and every part of him, as was her _duty._ Though he was careful to keep his expression neutral, Loki was well aware of how flimsy his composure was throughout the entire ordeal. He wouldn't be surprised if the Agent managed to point out which events affected him the most.

Her silence was a bit discomforting. "Why have you suddenly been rendered mute?" His eyes finally shifted to look at her.

"I'm not mute." She said evenly. "It's just a lot of information to process." She rested her elbows on the table in front of her, with the tips of her fingers touching. She wore a blank mask; Loki wondered what she was plotting. Her silence bothered him. Her indifference bothered him. He expected pity, scorn, a tell tale sign that she _felt _something. But no, she was _processing _this _information. _It was not the reaction he expected.

"Is that all you have to say?" He said bitterly. "Well, then, I'm _glad _you enjoyed my little tale."

He was tempted to run, to walk out into the city and disappear to anywhere but here. But, he knew she would easily stop him the moment he made a move. He itched to break something, throw his glass of mead into a wall and watch it shatter, to watch something else break, feel the satisfaction that he was still able to create chaos, that he was still himself. He needed to restore order into his troubling situation.

But wasn't there something closer that he could break? Something—no, _someone _who sat before him.

"Quid pro quo." He muttered under his breath, suddenly grateful for the term.

Natasha's eyes darted toward him. He had caught her. Loki forced a smile, though he doubted it looked very convincing. "Your turn." He took a languid sip from his mead.

He could see her swallow nervously. The hands resting on the table lowered and she hid them underneath it. "Yes, my turn." She confirmed. "But not here. We don't talk here." She made a move to stand and turn away, but Loki quickly grabbed her arm and stopped her. Pulling her back towards him, he leaned closer, his breath hot on her face, and practically growled.

"And why not?"

She thought that she could dismiss him so easily after he exposed himself to her. She thought she could just _trick _him that easily. He was no fool. No, an eye for an eye; a tale for a tale. And Loki refused to be on the short-end of the deal. He had enough. "We had a bargain, Romanoff. Mine for yours. Now, I accomplished my part, it's time you do the same. What happened to the urgency you spoke of?" His grip tightened and Natasha resisted the urge to flinch. "_Hypocrite_."

"Is there something wrong here?"

The broad shadow of Ilia towered over them. His thick arms, muscle showing through the fabric of his shirt, were crossed and he stood in his full height- almost half a foot taller than Loki. He glared dangerously at the shorter man, his biceps clenched, looking ready to kick the man out if necessary. But, Loki didn't feel threatened; the anger clouded whatever patience he had left. Ilia spoke to them in Russian, not expecting Loki to answer in the same tongue.

"This is none of your concern." He hissed harshly in Russian.

The barkeeper's eyes widened briefly, but he stood firm. He appeared to be even more wary than before. So, this strange man spoke his language all along.

"Ilia, leave us. I can handle this." He turned to Natalia, noticing the slight undertone in her voice. This was more than just two friends having an idle chitchat. This was business. SHIELD business. And that was one business that Ilia had no interest of joining. Normally, he wouldn't allow such transaction to happen in his bar. He'd had enough experience with that to last a lifetime. But he owed Natalia; owed her so _so _much.

He would have backed away, left them to their business, if he hadn't heard a familiar sound from the corner of bar. Ilia tackled both of them to the ground as the rain of bullets whizzed past their heads. One of the patrons screamed, but that scream was instantly silenced by another round. The crash of plates, shattering of glass and the repeated cock of a gun filled the room. Ilia pushed one of the tables over, and used it as a barrier against their attacker. He was about to ask Natalia what hell she's brought into his bar, only to realize that the small redhead was no longer beside them.

The moment she heard the gun being cocked, Natasha instincts immediately took over. Rolling to a booth near the window, she pulled out her own gun that was hidden within her jacket. She fired three consecutive shots at the attacker, and ducked under the sofa before a cluster of bullets passed her. The attacker continued on, though with a much more noticeable margin between each shot, which meant that at least one of her bullets hit its mark. Natasha secretly thanked Clint for his tips at shooting. She didn't do well with long-range combat that didn't include stealth.

The bullets suddenly stopped. Natasha hesitated. Either the attacker ran out of bullets or was about to go into a long drawn monologue, as was the standard for most of the villains she has encountered (Loki included).

"Natalia Romanovna, you traitor, come out!"

Natasha stiffened. She knew who that was.

Yelena.

* * *

Tony groaned. That was the third time Selvig heckled him that day. The mad man just wouldn't give up. How many times can he attempt to placate the insane scientist and assure him that all the parts he ordered had been shipped three days ago? There's only so much Tony's patience can handle. Finally with a resounding slam on the receiver, he blocked the scientist's number. Jarvis can stream through it and tell him if there was anything relevant amidst the accusations of "sloth" and "lazy ass". Massaging his temples, Tony sank into the comforts of his office chair and twirled around it nonchalantly.

Maybe Pepper was right. He needed a vacation. He sure as hell wasn't in a mentally fit state to be running an empire at the moment. He just wanted to slide into his warm, comfy bed and forget everything.

He was halfway between drowning in the leather of his chair, and daydreaming about the sands of Hawaii, when the phone started ringing again.

Damn it.

He let it ring for a few more moments, contemplating whether he should answer it or make a convincing impression of the Hulk and smash it with his fist. He chose the former, though the latter seemed far more appealing.

"Selvig, how many ti—"

"Well, nice to hear from you again, Stark. Still ass-uming I see."

Tony immediately straightened, his eyes wide with shock and his grip on the phone tightening. "H-Hammer?"

"The one and only. Did ya miss me?" He answered, sounding faintly like a demented clown.

The voice sounded strange but there was no doubt that irritatingly arrogant tone could only be produced by Justin Hammer; the same Justin Hammer who was kidnapped from the maximum security prison a couple days earlier. "About as much as I miss gum under my shoe. Where are you?"

"Oh, just somewhere your handy little satellites won't be able to find, so don't bother tracing this call. You'll end up with a blank. I have other things to discuss with you though. Things that I'm sure you'll find…fascinating. You see, I've got some friends who have a bone to pick with you, and I've…_volunteered _to help. They needed some guidance and I was more than glad to provide my expertise in all things Stark."

"Well, whoever your friends are, they better get ready for some disappointment. Because the only Stark you have is the stark space between your ears."

Hammer gave a dry chuckle. "I see your sense of humor hasn't changed."

"And I see you're still the nitwit who hired a madman to do his dirty work. Something tells me that you're not just here to gloat. What do you want, Hammer?"

"I want a lot of things, Stark. I want my company back. I want my money. I want my reputation. But, of all things that I want, they're nothing compared to my greatest goal: _your head_. Luckily, I'm not the only one. You've made some impressive enemies, Stark. They're a bit out there, but definitely not someone I'd want on my bad side." There was some disturbance at the other end of the line. "_I know, I'm getting there_—anyway, consider this call a warning. Just a little heads up for what's to come.

"Actually, we have a little surprise set up for you; just a little mischief I helped out plan. I actually think it's quite brilliant—one of my best, I believe—but you be the judge."

The line went dead. He lowered the phone slowly, his eyes lowered and his mouth tight. It was suddenly very difficult to swallow. His mind was racing with different scenarios; Hammer's message constantly replayed like an ominous echo of the future.

_"You've made some impressive enemies, Stark"_

_"They're a bit out there…"_

So, Hammer did make some friends. _Impressive enemies, _he said. Tony had many _many _"impressive enemies." Being a billionaire superhero kind of does that to you. He mentally scanned through his list of possible foes, but couldn't think of one that lacked the brain cells to choose Hammer as a sidekick. Now that he thought of it, Tony had some pretty smart enemies—with the exception of Hammer. What the failed businessman did have was a need for revenge; something that Tony knew was just as dangerous as intelligence. Revenge made people illogical, reckless, and when one is reckless, they often end up hurting more people than they should.

Tony stood up immediately; a disturbing thought just occurred to him.

Pepper.

* * *

The arrow screamed, as it finally landed on the target with a thud. It was dead center. Clint's lips tightened as he lowered the bow into its rack. The migraine was getting worse as the day wore on. Training usually helped clear his mind but, for some reason, today it only made it worse. He rubbed his temples, easing the pain somewhat.

He should have told Selvig. He should have told him about the headaches. He should have told him about the scepter, about how he knew it's been kept here in the facility all along. The words were at the tip of his mouth, biting and accusing.

All along? It's been here all along and you didn't _tell me_? After everything that _thing _brought us through, you agreed to keep it? And you knew—all this time you knew—and tried to play me for a fool. Well, the only fools here are you and Fury, for keeping that weapon when it should have been destroyed the moment it fell into Shield's hands.

Clint could have stolen it. It was right within his grasp. No one would know; there were no cameras in the chamber, he noticed. Clint didn't know if an extra-terrestrial staff of wonder could be incinerated by one of his arrows, but he would damn well try. An urge to take it suddenly emerged; he didn't know where it came from. His hand was a hair's breadth away from the cool metal when he stilled and his senses returned to him. Stealing a top secret, potentially malevolent, weapon while he was still suffering it's after effects would have been stupid.

He recalled the flashes of "enlightenment" that the scepter had showed him before; they were…tempting, seductive, and made so much sense at the time. It made him think thoughts beyond the realms of black and white, merging the two aspects into one twisted, sinister shade of gray; it made him forget and only made him believe that he was nothing but a puppet. Clint didn't trust himself not to turn into a homicidal psychopath the moment his hand grasped it, especially when he didn't even know the full extent of its power. If it was as powerful as Thor's hammer, then it was a force to be reckoned with, a force, he believed, no mortal man should ever hold. Not even him.

So, he would bid his time and hope that Shield knew what it had done, or else he would be waiting with a sorry serving of "I told you so."

"You okay there, Barton?"

Clint jumped at the voice and turned around. A familiar agent walked in the shooting range. It took a while to place a name with the face, until Clint noticed the dangling ID on the man's shirt. He greeted him with a small nod, ignoring how even the small movement brought upon a new wave of pain.

"Hey, Jones."

The engineer smiled. "You okay, Barton? Looking a little sick there." He walked towards the range beside Clint's, put the goggles on his eyes and pulled out his own gun and began shooting. Each shot felt like blow to the head. Clint cringed at the noise and resisted the urge to groan; this was even worse than the arrows, he thought. Just one more reason to add to his list of why he used bows instead of guns.

"Nah, I'm fine. Just—" _Bang._ "…A _little_ headache."

"Well, you can't let something like that bother you. I mean, we can't have one of Shield's best agents sick when there could be an emergency at any moment."

"Yeah, I think I'll be turning it in for today." He needed to leave before his head exploded.

He turned but froze for a minute at the doorway. Jones let out another shot and the gun's metal glinted in his hand as it hit the light during the recoil. It caught Clint's eye and he took a moment to admire it. "Nice gun. A Luger, right? Looks pretty old. I didn't take you as the collector type."

He couldn't see his face but, from his vantage point he noticed that Jones's shoulders stiffened a bit. "No, I'm not. I just have a preference for German-made." He shot the target repeatedly, bringing about a torrent of pulsing pain that nearly brought Clint to his knees. "You should probably take your rest, Barton, before that headache gets any worse."

Clint absently agreed and headed out to his quarters. There was something quite wrong, his senses told him. He stilled for a moment trying to recall what small detail he missed. Then suddenly, a new wave of pain shot through his skull, effectively overshadowing the strange feeling in his gut.

* * *

Natasha never _outwardly_ questioned her life as a spy. That doesn't mean she hasn't. Oh, she has—many times before. But they were only faint musings, fleeting thoughts of "what ifs" on lonely nights when she's half-drowned herself with a bottle of vodka. There were moments when she seriously considered the possibility of leaving the life of espionage. She could have done it. She could have hung her guns and gloves for the rest of her life. But, somewhere, a part of her, told her that she would be living the life of an outsider. She would be living a lie. No, she couldn't do it.

Past crimes never disappear. They rose from their dusty coffins, grew limbs and chased her wherever she went.

Sometimes, they managed to catch up to her.

Natasha held her breath. She was here. She had come for her. Her grip on her gun tightened. Slowly, she turned to look behind her. Yelena. How did she manage to find her? Natasha felt for the small device in her jacket. It was still there, still completely intact. Then, how could she—? She had used her own this time, not Stark's.

How long ago was their last meeting? Five—six years? Yelena had grown taller than her in the lapse. Prettier, too. She looked like she was restraining herself, the tightness of her jaw showed as much. Yet, that ever present fire glowed in her eyes, giving her an almost mad look and reminding Natasha exactly why Yelena was here in the first place.

To kill her.

A warning shot fired behind the couch. Natasha swallowed. She looked to the side and saw Ilia hiding behind the same upturned table. Beside him was Loki. She stared into his eyes and he stared back. His eyes silently demanded what the heck was going on, but Natasha didn't have time to answer his unspoken question. Later, her eyes said. She turned away from them and tried to concentrate on the situation at hand. She needed a plan quick.

"Yelena." She answered.

"So, the coward speaks." The blonde spat disdainfully. "Nowhere to hide. Come out or I'll shoot another one of the civilians."

Sharing a look with Ilia, Natasha nodded silently and he returned the action, understanding her intentions. Natasha made a show of sliding her gun across the room and Yelena followed its movements until it slid behind a table, but her gun never wavered from Natasha behind the couch.

"Okay, Yelena. I'm unarmed." She yelled. "Don't hurt anymore of the civilians. I'm coming out."

Slowly, with her arms up, Natasha stood from her hiding position and stepped in plain view of the gun's barrel. Yelena's arm was bleeding, but her hand was steady on the trigger and her face showed no sign of nerves. Her eyes were trained on the SHIELD agent, nothing else. Natasha warily stepped closer, eyes on the blonde and not on the gun.

Suddenly, smirking, Yelena trained her gun on the table and fired. Ilia let out a grunt as the bullet hit him directly on his hand and he dropped the gun. It clattered on the ground loudly. Momentarily distracted, Natasha took this opportunity to crouch down and kick the gun out of her hand.

She tackled her after and they rolled on the floor, a mess of hair and limbs. A series of punches and blocks followed; one side intended to kill while the other meant to subdue. Finally pinned at the bottom, Yelena aimed a punch at her throat, but Natasha blocked it with her arm. The blonde then elbowed the only arm holding Natasha up, sending her off-balance. She then brought her legs to her chest and kicked the Agent off her.

Natasha flipped herself back up using her arms and was about to attack again when the cock of a gun made her freeze. Yelena stood in front of her with a new pistol in her hand ready to fire.

_"Always bring an extra."_

Yelena smiled sardonically. "Just like you taught me."

Natasha stilled, crouched on the ground. She closed her eyes, expecting blow at any minute. It did come, a loud ringing that deafened her. But, there was no pain, no light. She opened her eyes and saw Yelena on the ground, unconscious, with Loki standing and holding a now broken bottle of wine. He stood over the girl and kicked aside the gun in her now loosened grip. He then turned to Natasha, an unreadable expression on his face.

He stepped over Yelena and the broken glass and headed towards her. Still frozen in shock, all she could do was stare. He held out his hand to her, and she eyed it warily. Scoffing, Loki lowered his offered hand, grabbed her elbow, and pulled her up instead. Natasha looked up at him silently, just realizing what exactly he had done.

He _saved _her.

Loki looked as though he was about to say something when another sound echoed. She pushed him aside and the bullet grazed her arm instead. Yelena had managed to crawl over to her gun and stood with her arm and head bleeding. Loki, as quick as a snake, turned to the blonde with his own gun and fired several shots. Yelena, bruised and bleeding, realized she was in no condition to fight anymore and made a dash for the exit. Loki cursed and was about to run after her when a hand pulled him back by his jacket.

"No, let her go." Natasha winced. Loki looked at her incredulously but complied nonetheless.

Clutching her arm, she limped towards the upturned table and eyed Ilia, who, like her, was holding his own wound. She bent down and inspected the gaping hole in his hand. "I'm sorry for bringing you into this."

He shook his head. "Too late for apologies now. What is done is done. I'm just a bit rusty." He watched as Natasha ripped a piece of cloth from her shirt with her teeth and free arm, then wrapped it around his hand. "No need, Natalia. I can handle this myself. Now, take your friend and run before the authorities come."

She nodded, gave one last squeeze of his arm, and walked towards the exit. Loki followed her. She stopped before stepping out and turned to him. "Take off your jacket and drape it over me. We need to hide the wound." The blood was beginning to drip down her arm, and the noticeable red stain blossomed from her sleeve. Loki did as told unquestioningly for once. The jacket hid the sleeve, but the blood still dripped.

They stepped outside, both looking around just in case Yelena was around waiting to ambush them. Deeming it clear, they walked down the block, just in time to hear the sirens approaching the restaurant behind them.

They called out a taxi once they were a safe distance away. Natasha helped herself inside, while Loki watched on, reluctant to help. The taxi driver watched them from his rearview mirror. Natasha stuffed her arm deeper into the jacket and held back a hiss as the leather grazed her wound. The taxi driver still eyed them suspiciously as she told him the address.

Taking a cue from their previous encounter, Loki placed an arm around her shoulders. The Agent's eyes widened, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned closer to him, nestling her head on his neck, uninjured arm hung between them. The taxi driver looked away and resumed driving.

* * *

When they arrived, Natasha was already beginning to weaken from the blood loss. With the adrenaline rush gone, she could feel the full extent of the damage. This time Loki did help her out of the taxi, if only to prevent her from crying out in pain. He gave the driver their money, not exactly sure how much was due but told the old man to keep the change nonetheless. Happy with his generous pay, the driver bid goodbye to the "happy couple" and sped off. Once the coast was clear, Natasha used her arm to search through her jacket and pulled out her tracking device. Throwing it to the ground, she quickly stomped on it. Natasha was on the verge of fainting, her knees were beginning to weaken and she was sure she was about to collapse, until Loki took her uninjured arm and draped it over his shoulders. Surprised by his sudden actions, she chose to accept the help and leaned on him.

They limped up the stairs. Occasionally, she would hiss as the bullet wound sent shocks of pain through her. He felt her breath on his neck and couldn't fully explain the effect it had on him. She was too close for comfort. After a torturous climb up the stairs, they reached the third floor. She asked him open the door with the key in her jacket's inner pocket. Loki did so, careful not to linger.

Entering the apartment, he haphazardly settled her on the couch and followed her instructions to grab the first aid kit underneath the kitchen sink. He opened the kit, looking at the items with faint recognition. The days he spent observing how Natasha dressed his wound was now put into use. He took out the antiseptic and dabbed a generous amount on a piece of cloth. Kneeling before her, he tentatively removed his jacket and her own. Natasha helped somewhat, though took great pains to slip the sleeve off her injured arm.

"Ah!" She hissed as the cloth grazed the raw wound. Loki stilled for an instant. "Take it off! Now!"

He pulled off the jacket hastily causing Natasha to release a cry of pain. The wound was bleeding freely down her arm, a scarlet trail that led all the way down to the tips of her fingers, which dripped blood onto the sofa. Loki grimaced a little bit at the sight of the torn flesh. He grabbed the cloth with antiseptic and covered the wound with it. Natasha contained another cry and bit her bottom lip as he continued to clean the wound.

With the wound clean, he took the gauze and began to wrap the wound just like Natasha did to his. The bleeding stopped somewhat, but the crimson stain spread throughout the white gauze. She was pale, but seemed relieved. He was never so aware of her mortality until that moment. Deadly Natasha Romanoff, renowned spy and assassin, the Black Widow, forced to retreat home to lick her wounds after a brief scuffle with a pixie of a girl. But, she was no ordinary girl was she. Loki was there, he heard their exchange.

"So, I assume that was the Yelena from your past." It was a statement, not a question. Natasha head snapped up to face Loki. "That was a fine reunion, don't you think?"

Her eyes narrowed warningly, yet he continued on. "Clearly, Thor and I aren't the only ones experiencing some sibling strife. I'm curious, Agent Romanoff, what could you have done to inspire such hatred within such a trusting child? Come now, surely you could divulge your own sordid little sins. I did mine."

She still held her tongue.

"Quid pro quo." Loki added holding back the small tug on the corner of his lips.

He could see her struggling, and for a moment, he actually thought that she might go back on her word. A tongue darted out to lick her slightly chapped lips. It did _not _distract Loki _at all_. Her voice was rough due to holding back her earlier cries; however her message remained clear, and echoed amidst the anticipating silence.

"I...betrayed her. I betrayed them all." She didn't elaborate on the subject, seemingly exhausted of both energy and words.

Loki swallowed, his hand stilled on the bandage. A small sarcastic smirk tugged the corners of his lips. A traitor, eh? Will the parallels never cease?

She released a shaky breath, the toll of the day finally settling in, and slumped on the couch. Curiosity now stirred, Loki was tempted to shake her awake and push on for further details, but that was the only information she was willing to reveal at the moment. She was far too weak to tell her whole tale, no matter how much Loki pressed her to do so.

Finishing up the bandage, he stood up and watched her pale form on the couch. The sight disturbed him for reasons unknown. Realizing that this was no proper way to rest, he resolved to carry her to her bedroom. He opened the door to the room before he came back to the couch and cradled her head in his arm and brought up her legs with the other. He lay her down on bed, careful not to disturb the wound.

He had never been in her room before and was surprised to see that it was just as bland as the living room. No memorabilia of any sort hung on the walls, no books on the bookshelf that could have revealed more about her interest, not even a single drop of color other than black and red. Sometimes, he wondered whether she was purposely trying to evade any kind of scrutiny. Knowing her wary attitude, that would not be unexpected.

Loki sat on her bedside, watching the subtle rise and fall of her chest, and the peaceful expression on her face. Strange to think that earlier that day, he would have wanted nothing more than to see her in this vulnerable, weakened state. He had wanted to hurt her, _break _her, elicit some kind of reaction from her. For a moment, he contemplated killing her. Words could not describe how much he hated her. he hated her stoic mask; he hated her contradicting personality; he hated how she reminded him so much of himself; and he hated how she could draw such a reaction from him and not know—not _feel_—anything.

And yet, despite the hate, he had protected her. Logic told him it was how it was supposed to be; a definite side-effect of his attraction. Another side told him that without her, all his plans to release himself from Thanos's control would have been futile.

Nevertheless, he knew none of them was the real reason why he saved her. None of them could explain the overwhelming urge to rip that Yelena girl apart for laying one finger on Natasha. She was _his _to hurt.

How could he want to protect _her? _How could he want to protect such an irritating creature, who has been nothing more than a thorn on his side since the moment they met? How could he hate her one moment, then drastically jump to save her the next? Yet, she saved him as well, didn't she? That final bullet was meant for him, not her. And yet—like always—she pushed him aside and took what was rightfully his.

In this state, she His hand, of its own accord, gently brushed aside a stray strand of red that obscured her face.

How could he...?

The movement caused her to stir. He withdrew his hand and hastily stood up. Her eyes fluttered open and tiredly looked up at him. Loki saved her the trouble by speaking. "Don't overthink this, Romanoff. You healed me, so now I'm healing you. I'm merely repaying a debt. Nothing more."

Natasha stared at him for a moment before nodding. "Of course." She croaked.

He nodded and turned to leave. He momentarily stopped as he recalled something. From the inside of his jacket, he took out the gun he used earlier. He placed it on the side table, noticing how Natasha had followed his every move with suspicion in her half-lidded eyes.

"Your gun," He said simply.

And without another word, Loki left the room.

* * *

Not the reaction you were expecting from Natasha, huh? Or was it?

Yes, Loki is acting a bit bipolar (as is expected of him). He hates her, yet he's attracted to her. Clearly, he doesn't know what to think. Poor guy.

Natasha on the other hand is struggling to hold on to "professionalism." Strange how she suddenly switches to SHIELD Agent mode _after _Loki has opened up to her.

Yes, I'm a sadist when it comes to Clint. I don't exactly know why, but I like how he's completely clueless yet so perceptive at the same time. If he wasn't suffering a headache, he could've taken the hint and done something...before it was too late.

Tony, Tony, Tony...I'm keeping quiet about this one. (Mwahahaha)

Enjoy the update, guys. I'm back and I'm staying. So _**REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW **_and Happy New Year, guys!**  
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